


Into The Darkest Corner

by k_howard_is_here



Category: Six - Marlow/Moss
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Grace!Aragon, Heavy Angst, Obsessive Behavior, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-23
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:08:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 26,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24876694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/k_howard_is_here/pseuds/k_howard_is_here
Summary: Catherine is all too aware that love is complicated. Her perception of what love is has been skewed by events from her past. But she’s about to discover that it has many forms and one in particular reveals there’s a much darker side than she could ever imagine.
Comments: 101
Kudos: 92





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've had the idea for this for a while and finally decided to sit down and write it.  
> This will be posted in a different format from my other 'fics, with two chapters being posted at a time. You'll see why once you start reading!  
> A huge thank you to Blue (@pen-and-a-microphone on Tumblr) for Beta-reading and helping with this 'fic!

_Breathe, Catherine. Just breathe._

But she couldn’t. She was amazed that she’d managed to hold it together for the entire show, but she couldn’t hide it anymore. Having the performance to focus on had served as a small distraction, but now the stark reality had come crashing down around her. Now the curtain was down, there was no “character” to shield her, no story to escape into. There was just the horrible, stifling reality. Catherine gripped her dressing table desperately as a sudden rush of vertigo made the room sway, her heart hammering in her chest, in her ears. She clamped her eyes shut. The room suddenly felt too small, closing in, suffocating her. 

“Catherine?” came Jane’s soothing voice, as she stepped into the dressing room, an eyebrow raised in concern. “Are you alright, love?”

But it was evident that the other Queen was far from alright.

Jane hadn’t missed Catherine’s dash off stage at the quickest opportunity after the curtain call. She’d seemed a little distracted throughout the show, some of her lines usually delivered with much gusto falling flat, her choreography not as sharp. Clearly, Catherine hadn’t been feeling in top form, but the others had dismissed it as her being a little under the weather. But now, Jane has concluded that it wasn’t that simple.

Hearing Jane’s voice piercing the stifling silence seemed to snap Catherine out of her daze, as a sob escaped her lips. Seeing her start to tremble, Jane immediately went to her side, easing her gently into a chair before her legs had the chance to buckle. She was admittedly a little rattled herself, having never seen Catherine, the one who was usually so stoic and composed, in such distress.

“What’s going on?” Jane tried desperately to mask the waver in her voice as she drew up a second chair. “Catherine, you’re scaring me.”

* * *

**Three Months Earlier**

A triumphant cry erupted from the Queens’ table as they finished another round of “Would You Rather?”. It was a Sunday evening, officially the weekend for the six women, seeing as they didn’t have any performances the following day. It was the one night when they all truly relaxed, easing the tensions of the week over a few drinks. They had inevitably become regulars at the pub, with the bar manager knowing to reserve them the larger table in the cosy nook. With rustic walnut panelled walls, low ceiling beams and soft furnishings, the pub was popular with locals and tourists alike, all seeking out its warmth on a chilly London evening. Being in close proximity to the theatre, it had become a firm favourite with the Queens, and they were now relatively well renowned for their Sunday appearances.

“Right! Who’s up for some Drenga?” Anne asked rhetorically, already leaping from her seat to retrieve the favoured game. 

A light-hearted groan rose from the table, Catherine and Cathy rolling their eyes and shaking their heads. They all knew how this went down.

“I’d rather play Battleshots,” grumbled Anna, slumping back in her seat.

“No!” cried Jane in mock despair. “Please don’t give Anne any more ideas!”

Laughter rippled through the group. They all knew Jane was a lightweight. She didn’t have to be reminded of that last fateful night, when they’d cajoled her into playing, resulting in a very drunk karaoke rendition of “My Heart Will Go On” and a thumping hangover the following morning. 

“I’ll go and top up the drinks then!” volunteered Catherine, collecting the glasses, resigned to the fact that they’d have to play at least one more drinking game to satisfy Anne and Anna. The German was quick to offer her help as they made their way to the bar, leaving the remaining four to chat amongst themselves.

As the pair approached the bar, Anna noted heads turning, men eyeing them up. Catherine seemed to be oblivious, but Anna had witnessed it several times - men often held their gaze for too long. Not like it was difficult to see why. Catherine was arguably one of the prettiest Queens, with her sun-kissed skin and glossy black hair. She had an air of sophistication about her that Anna lacked, more poise. But Anna didn’t compare herself; she enjoyed blending in more, seeming innocuous, but nonetheless would jump to the defense without hesitation if anyone dared try to mess with her girls. 

One of the bartenders looked up from pouring a pint, flashing a pearly white smile. 

“You ladies are needing refills already?” David teased, giving a cheeky wink at Catherine as he took their glasses.

“You should be grateful,” Catherine said, faking offence. “We’re keeping you in business!”

At the remark, he gave a chuckle. David was the easy-going, regular bartender on a Sunday evening and a friendly face to all of the Queens. He always made Kitty blush with his charming ways, and even Catherine had to admit he was easy on the eye. He’d even piqued Cathy’s interest when he demonstrated a genuine intrigue in the Shakespeare play he had spotted peeking out of her bag one evening. 

“Good week?” he asked politely, looking between Anna and Catherine.

Anna shrugged, her fingers tapping on the bar. “Same as always.”  
  
She wasn’t really one for making small talk.

“How was yours?” Catherine asked, much happier to engage in conversation, leaning in closer, prompting Anna to roll her eyes.

David passed over their drinks, giving a nonchalant shrug. “Not too bad! Can’t complain really. Always in need of the extra pennies!”

Catherine gave him a warm smile and a nod of thanks as she turned to return to their table.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the flash of a chequered shirt, but the crowd soon swallowed the stranger up as he made his way towards the bar. Attempting to maneuver her way through the jostling mob, Catherine focused on the glasses in her hands, trying rather unsuccessfully to not spill any of the drinks, and, in her haste, walked headfirst into someone. 

“Sorry!” she quickly apologised, looking up, and briefly locking eyes with the man in the checked shirt. 

Then he was gone.

She didn’t know it yet, but Catherine had just sparked a fuse.


	2. Chapter 2

_ She’s the one. I just know it. _

_ My whole body feels alive, all the atoms and molecules inside me fizzing and popping, my nerves tingling, like I’ve been electrocuted. I’ve never felt so...rejuvenated. I can’t resist glancing over every now and then, just to feel that surge of excitement rise in my chest. But I’m careful: I don’t want her catching me. Not just yet.  _

_ Our brief encounter was enough. For just a second, she saw me. Her beautiful, brown eyes fell on me. She even apologised! She has nothing to be sorry for. But it shows she’s kind and polite, like I knew she would be. You can just tell. What’s more, she’s even prettier in the flesh than in her Instagram photos. My heart is still pounding, butterflies still fluttering in my stomach. They say that’s how you can tell you’re in love, right? So she must be the one.  _

_ Her name is Catherine: Latin for pure. It suits her perfectly.  _

_ I don’t know too much about her, but that’s part of the fun. Still, I know enough. _

_ Guess who booked a ticket for a musical, just as a treat? _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!   
> Comments and kudos make me smile and are always appreciated. :3


	3. Chapter 3

It was the end of another performance and the Queens were backstage, making themselves presentable, their make-up having melted underneath the blazing heat of the stage lighting. Catherine carefully removed her spiked headpiece, wincing as it inevitably snagged in her hair, before slipping out of her costume and rectifying her smudged eyeliner and foundation. She was admittedly feeling quite tired; it was nearing the end of the week, with only a double show day to go tomorrow. But, if there was one thing she didn’t like skipping, it was greeting the fans at the stage door. There was just something so rewarding seeing the crowd of smiling faces, how their show inspired so many. Catherine endeavoured to speak to everyone. She always enjoyed hearing the enthusiasm from young girls telling her how her performance had given them the confidence to apply for drama school, start vocal lessons, or even helped them make new friends. It was remarkable how empowering the show was to many people.The fact she and the other five Queens were turning their horrific pasts into something positive and beneficial in the present was so rewarding. The show had given them all a sense of purpose after their reincarnations, keeping them grounded, and for that, they were truly grateful. 

There was also the element of escapism the fans enjoyed that resonated with Catherine. Being a Tudor Queen in the twenty-first century was undeniably complicated, so it was a relief to have the modern “character” of Catherine of Aragon to hide behind. 

After all, they had never expected their life stories - albeit somewhat embellished to keep it modern and entertaining - would have such a huge impact on the theatre industry. From the day they opened, the show was always sold out at least a month in advance, with young fans clamouring to buy tickets to see the show again and again. Nor had they been prepared for the sheer amount of publicity, rave reviews and audience reaction they received. All of a sudden, their faces were plastered over London’s trademark red buses, they were being invited onto numerous daytime TV shows and radio stations for interviews and exclusive performances, and their social media platforms, once with just a modest following of family and friends, multiplied overnight. Soon, there were thousands of fans wanting to watch their every move, liking every photo they posted, even creating fan pages dedicated to their favourite Queen. The experience was overwhelming yet exhilarating. Gone were the days when they were pitied and condemned. Now was their time to shine. 

But, of course, this all came with a price. They’d all had to adapt to life in the public eye. Whilst most fans were supportive and appreciative, there was a minority that enjoyed nothing more than adding derogatory comments to an Instagram post, or being disrespectful at the stage door. Each of the Queens had experienced it to some degree, but refused to pay them much attention. They all knew that would just be giving them more ammunition. Besides, they’d withstood harsher treatments from Henry, so it would take a lot more than a single bitter comment to bring them down. 

Despite that, all in all, Catherine loved her job and always strived to see the positives. 

“Ready for the madness?” Cathy raised a playful eyebrow in the mirror as she passed, grabbing her jacket from the back of the door.

Catherine returned it with a wink. “You know it!”

As they pushed open the door to outside, the fresh air rushed at them, the coolness such a relief after being in the small, stuffy theatre. Already, there was a small congregation of fans patiently waiting, eagerly clutching programmes and phones. 

Immediately, a little girl of around six or seven practically hurled herself at Catherine. She was wearing a replica outfit of her own, with gold sequin detail and a spiked headband. Catherine lovingly wrapped her arms around the girl, kneeling down to her level. 

“I love your costume!” she enthused, admiring the girl’s costume in all its glory, as she proudly gave a twirl, a bubbly giggle escaping from her lips. “Did you make it yourself?”

The girl nodded vehemently, her brown curls bouncing. “With my mummy! And I know all the words to “No Way” too!”

Catherine laughed. “Well, I think your costume is fantastic! I’ll tell the other Queens they better look out for you! Maybe you’ll be the next Catherine of Aragon?”

It still blew her mind that fans aspired to be like them. The vast majority of the younger audience couldn’t fully comprehend the severity of their treatment in their past lives and how truly dark their stories were, given how much more light-heartedly they were depicted in the show. But the fact that little boys and girls went to all the effort to create costumes to be like them? That was totally crazy.

Catherine finished with the girl by posing for a photo and signing her programme, allowing her to head off and meet the other Queens as they left the theatre, one by one.

Next was a tall, lanky man, who was standing rather awkwardly with his hands shoved into his pockets, apparently on his own.

Catherine thought his face seemed familiar and she gave him a warm smile.

“Hey!” Her eyes lit up. “You were in the front row, right? Did you enjoy the show?”

The man nodded eagerly. He seemed rather on edge, fumbling with his hands and chewing his lip. Catherine put it down to nerves, something she was always baffled by during meet and greets, but she endeavoured to put them at ease. She always considered herself to be insignificant, yet when fans approached her all quiet and timid, she realised people thought she was important, that they felt the pressure to make a great first impression. So, she tried to keep the conversation flowing naturally.

“It was great! You were amazing!”

“Aww, thank you!”

She casually shifted back a little, as the man edged closer and closer, beginning to infringe on her personal space. Was he even realising he was doing it? She leant in slightly so he could take a photo on his phone, before retreating back a step before signing his programme. As she did, she could feel his stare boring into her as he watched intently, like every letter she wrote was truly remarkable. She had to admit, he was coming across as quite intense. But, people acted differently when they were nervous or put into social interactions they weren’t used to, so she pushed her thoughts aside.

“Thank you so much!” he gushed, holding the programme close to his chest.

Catherine gave him a wave as he turned to leave, disappearing into the throng of people milling around at the busy junction opposite the theatre.

She continued with her meet and greets, speaking to a group of exuberant girls and their parents, who had begrudgingly tagged along only to end up loving the show just as much as their daughters. All the while, the streets outside the theatre were teeming with people, out for a late evening meal or on their way to meet up and socialise with a group of friends. It was an aspect of London that Catherine had never adapted to. No matter the time of day, the streets were always brimming with such a diverse group of people of all ethnicities and backgrounds: the daily commuters, the avid tourists, the mingling young students. And every night, she met so many different people, some who had been so dedicated as to travel long distances just to see the show. She enjoyed the meeting aspect, but she still chose to avoid the overwhelming Oxford Street at weekends, when the pedestrian crossings and Oxford Circus tube station resembled stampedes of animals rather than civilised people. It was funny how a busy city affected everyone’s behaviours.

At last, she was finished, and she rejoined the rest of the Queens, hooking a friendly arm around Cathy as they started their journey home. Engrossed in animated chatter with the others, she was oblivious to the ominous shadow lurking on the corner of the street, watching her every move.

Following her to the Tube station.


	4. Chapter 4

I’m so happy I feel like my heart could burst.

I met her! I actually spoke to her.

I need to see her again. I know we are meant to be together. 

She is the one.

I’m also rather impressed with myself. I found out so much more today. Well, not as much as I perhaps would have if I’d not acted so stupidly dumb-struck. But enough.

I admired her little dainty, gold moon necklace; I’ve seen it before in one of her Instagram photos. There’s so many things that the moon symbolises: it’s feminine, representing eternity, immortality, enlightenment, and the rhythm of the time. Maybe she’s a feminist? Anyway, I’m getting distracted. She has her ears pierced three times, plus a helix, so I guess she follows the trends. Her nails are manicured, painted with black glitter polish to complement her costume. Also, she gets the Tube home from Tottenham Court Road. That means she either uses the Central or Northern line. 

And no, I didn’t follow her home! Although it was admittedly rather tempting to see where she disembarked. Just out of curiosity.

So, stage door.

I didn’t want to seem overkeen, so I kept my distance a little from the door. I allowed a cute little girl to go first, who was showing off her rather marvellous costume. I watched as Catherine gushed over it, her whole face brightening as she admired the girl’s (and probably mostly her mother’s) handiwork. She took the time to have a little talk with her, before posing for a photo and signing her programme. 

Then, it was my turn.

A flicker of recognition lit up her eyes as soon as she laid eyes on me, a warm smile playing on her lips.

“Hey! You were in the front row, right? Did you enjoy the show?”

My heart fluttered then. She remembered me! Not from the bar, no, but from tonight!

It was true. She’d interacted with me during her solo number. There was no way (excuse the pun!) I was going to sit near the back. I wanted the very best view, so I booked months in advance and was thrilled to bag a front row seat. I’d been transfixed as I’d watched her, commanding the stage and the audience’s attention with her performance, with her sassy choreography and facial expressions. She was truly captivating. Even long after her solo number had ended, I still found myself drawn to her, watching her reactions and the delivery of her witty lines. What a talent she was! I felt like the luckiest man in the world.

Despite having recited what I was going to say to her all of last night and today, my mouth had gone dry. 

“It was great! I blurted out, cringing as my voice cracked. “You were amazing!”

_Come on, get a grip!_ _Don’t lose your cool_ I had reprimanded myself. But I’d been disarmed by her prettiness. She had the most captivating brown eyes, rich like chocolate, yet also soft and kind. When she flicked her black hair out of her eyes, I caught a scent of her floral shampoo...it reminded me of roses. It is sweet, just like her. And her skin, well, her skin is just as gorgeous, a radiant olive tone. Sun-kissed and ethereal.

As she signed my programme with a gold Sharpie, I was mesmerised watching her write her name. While she concentrated, I glanced up once or twice just to take in her features again, trying to memorise everything, before returning my gaze to her autograph. And, I got my photo taken with her! I immediately set it as my phone’s lock screen. Now, everytime I look at my phone, I’ll be reminded of that night. 

Feeling a little embarrassed and worrying she thought I was a little strange, I sent her a direct message on her Instagram. Just to thank her for her time and apologising for being such a nervous idiot. To my surprise, she replied, and I needn’t have worried that I made a bad first impression.

_ Don’t be silly, it was lovely to meet you! Thank you for your support x _

I stare at the kiss at the end of the message. 

Does this mean she likes me? 

That she feels the same way I do?


	5. Chapter 5

Having been unable to resist temptation before the matinee performance, Catherine hurried back to her dressing room, armed with a Pret baguette, a cookie and a ginger shot, just for good measure. 

“Is the ginger shot just to make you feel less guilty?” teased Cathy, eyeing up Catherine’s admittedly rather appetising looking lunch, suddenly turning her nose up at her own comparatively bland salad.

The older Queen gave her a playful shove, before turning her attention to her dressing table.

“Aww, they’re so pretty! Who’d you get them from?”

Cathy glanced up from scrolling absent-mindedly through her phone.

“They’re for you.” She nodded at the flower arrangement. “There was no label though. Must’ve got lost.”

She gave a casual shrug, looking back down at her phone.

Catherine admired the beautiful, blooming, candy pink roses, their sweet smell unmistakable. They were lovingly presented in a white ceramic pot, a pink ribbon wrapped around the middle. Who had been so thoughtful as to send her such a pleasant surprise?

After quickly scouring for a lost tag with no success, she decided to snap a photo and posted it to her Instagram story, hoping that one of her followers had the answer. 

_ Whoever sent me these flowers today, please let me know who you are! I want to thank you properly as there was no gift tag! They are gorgeous!  _

As she finally sat down to enjoy her lunch, Anne waltzed in, her eyes lighting up as they fell on the bouquet.

“They’re pretty! Who sent them?”

Catherine shrugged, taking a nibble of her baguette. 

“It’s a mystery. No tag.”

That seemed to excite the younger Queen.

“Ooh, someone’s got a secret admirer!”

Catherine wrinkled her nose, waving a dismissive hand. There was  _ definitely _ no guy on the scene, that was for certain. She’d had enough relationship drama to put her off the opposite sex for eternity. She received the occasional gift from fans at the stage door, which, although appreciated, always made her feel a little guilty, thinking they somewhat felt obligated to buy her presents. So, she simply presumed it was a very kind gesture from someone who had seen the show recently.

But Anne persisted, giving her a light-hearted shake of the shoulders.

“Oh, come on, Catherine! Lighten up a bit!” she gently chided. “He could be a real prince charming for all you know!”

Cathy gave an indignant snort.

With an exasperated sigh, Anne lifted her hands in surrender.

“All I’m saying is that you should give him a chance!”

_ “Gosh,”  _ the younger woman thought. _ “Why did she have to play so hard to get?” _

It was then that Anne froze, a dramatic gasp escaping her lips as an idea struck her.

“Maybe it was David!”

Cathy, eyes still glued to her phone as she reclined in her seat, raised an eyebrow at the suggestion. Catherine blinked.

“David? The bartender?”

A silence descended.

“Oh, come on!” cried Anne. “Anna said you were totally flirting with him at the bar last weekend!’

Catherine whirled around, an appalled look on her face.

“I did not!” she exclaimed insistently. 

Unfortunately, Anne took the defiant response as confirmation and gave a loud, triumphant laugh, rushing away gleefully to the adjacent dressing room. Catherine groaned, staring at the ceiling. She’d never hear the end of it now.

She closed her eyes, waiting for the inevitable.

_ 5, 4, 3... _

“Catherine!” came an incredulous shriek. 

On cue, Kitty skidded to a halt in the doorway, a cheeky smile plastered on her face. Her eyes betrayed her though. Everyone knew she had a soft spot for David and was harbouring a not-so-secret crush on him. 

“You fancy David?!”

Catherine cast a pleading look at Cathy.  _ Back me up here please? _

Yet, this seemed to be a great amusement to the writer, who had now abandoned her phone and was now giving her a sly look. 

Catherine huffed. She made sure to enunciate each word as she spoke.

“I. Do. Not. Fancy. David!”

A cacophony of giggles erupted from the other dressing room, the others reveling in winding her up and her naively taking the bait.

Cathy, it seemed, also couldn’t resist participating. 

“It’s alright, Catherine. You can admit your feelings, you know. We won’t judge.”

Conceding to the fact she was going to be the butt of their jokes for the rest of the day, the older Queen grumbled under her breath, snatching her lunch and stomping out, heading to the refuge of the dress circle in the theatre auditorium so she could eat in peace.

* * *

Catherine collapsed into a seat a few rows from the front, breathing a sigh of relief at the silence that enveloped her. She was accustomed to gazing out into this auditorium every night, yet there was something quite comforting about sitting in the small, intimate space. It was quite cosy, although it was definitely in need of renovation. Despite this, it was the perfect breathing space for her to clear her head and escape the ruckus backstage.

As much as she loved Anne, she often found it difficult to not get irritated by her antics. Catherine knew that was just her nature - Anne would certainly not be Anne if it weren’t for her brash and bold personality - and sometimes her jokes and mischievous pranks were the perfect remedy for their worries. But other times, they simply grated on Catherine’s nerves, trying her patience when the banter was taken too far or her personal boundaries were broached.

Yet, as she quietly nibbled at her cookie, Catherine knew Anne wouldn’t have realised she’d touched a nerve with her latest jest about David.

The truth was, it was complicated.

Whenever the topic of relationships and potential crushes came up, which they did occasionally, Catherine always found herself squirming with discomfort. She’d either remain quiet and offer no contribution or steal away elsewhere, hoping the others wouldn’t notice her adverseness. The trouble was, she didn’t even know how to begin explaining the emotions that were stirred when the topic arose, only that it made her stomach twist into tight, anxious knots, her head begging for them to change the subject. 

The subject of love was a minefield. Perhaps that’s what happens when your ex-husband from over 500 years ago unashamedly and blatantly slept around, apparently never completely satisfied with his “beloved” wife of twenty four years and seeking pleasure elsewhere. Despite this, she had remained truthful and loyal to him, even ruling his kingdom in his absence whilst at war. Yet she was ruthlessly discarded when it became evident she could not give him his true desire. The one thing that usurped everything else. A son. 

Or perhaps she simply did not find it necessary to yearn for love in this reincarnated life? Maybe she had been reborn to be content with the love of the five women who shared the same unique experiences, who had suffered at the hands of the same man. After all, they considered themselves a family unit, albeit a slightly dysfunctional, unconventional one.

To her, David was a friendly face in a place filled with strangers, a person of reassurance. Sure, she had to admit she’d felt her heart flutter when she’d first met him, and no one could deny he was attractive, but was she truly ready to make that leap and commit to a relationship? That was, of course, supposing he was even single. Sometimes, she lay in bed at night, thinking about how many other women longed for someone to share their whole life with. And yes, on occasion Catherine had to admit she felt lonely and fear about her future would begin to seep into her thoughts: what would happen if the Queens decided to go their separate ways? Would she regret not finding someone if she found herself alone? She knew it was pointless worrying over an event that might never even happen and yet the very prospect filled her with dread. 

Some nights she wished that she could roll over and wake up to the warmth of someone beside her. Someone she trusted wholeheartedly, that would love her unconditionally. Yet, she was often quite content with being alone in her bedroom, the only place she truly found peace in the house she shared with five other women.

So, did she really need the love of a man? Or was all this worry just because society was telling her it was compulsory to find true love? That it was somehow linked to her worth? Her happiness?

Whatever it was, it was scary. 

She’d been lost in her thoughts for some time before her ears pricked up at the sound of quiet shuffling behind her, followed by the soft creak of a seat.

“Are you alright, love?”

Catherine couldn’t help but smile at the familiar, soothing voice, tilting her head back to face Jane. The blonde leant forward and rested a hand on her shoulder.

“You know they were just teasing you.”

Of course, Jane was the only one who knew the real reason for Catherine fleeing from her dressing room. To the others it merely looked like she’d left frustrated and embarrassed at the attention and that they had found out about her apparent crush, yet Jane knew it went much deeper. She recalled the fateful night they’d stayed up late, lying on Catherine’s bed in the dark, the older Queen confiding in her about what had been troubling her. The darkness had been a great comfort to Catherine, for not only did it hide her tears of confusion and sadness, it also concealed Jane’s reactions. But Catherine had been surprised when Jane had revealed that she too had battled with similar emotions, albeit with more motherly tendencies, and understood her better than she’d thought. She too watched as doting husbands and wives passed her every day, hand in hand, often with their beautiful children in tow, and she often paused to wonder if she’d ever get to experience that. Or, more importantly, did she even want to? Did she really have the desire for a husband or, more importantly, a child that wasn’t Edward? 

All things considered, both women shared very similar emotions as a consequence of their past lives. They’d concluded that perhaps Catherine’s feelings were derived from an underlying fear of being so wounded and disrespected again. That no man could ever see her as desirable, that she would always be worthless, that Henry had somehow tarnished her for good. For Jane, it was that she always ached to be a mother, her maternal instincts crying out and telling her she couldn’t possibly feel complete without a child of her own. But the problem was, she had a child of her own. She’d just never had the chance to see him, to hold him. And that thought consumed her. Nothing could replace the son she’d had.

It was an emotional tug-of-war. Therefore, Anne’s somewhat childish teasing had brought Catherine discomfort for reasons she couldn’t divulge to the others.

Not like they’d understand anyway.

All in all, it was a tangled web of conflicting emotions.

Jane gave a wry smile, arching a brow.

“So...do you like David?”

Catherine blushed a little, looking down at her lap. “Maybe...just a little?”

The pair laughed then. Jane wrapped her arms around the other woman’s shoulders.

“Never feel pressured, love. I understand how complicated it is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to take the opportunity to explore Catherine's emotions when it comes to love, since all she's ever known was Henry's "love" and I imagine having that experience would undoubtedly skew her perception of what true love really should look like and if it was even something she really desired or felt she needed in this new life. Turns out, it makes for complicated feelings and I hope I conveyed that okay here.


	6. Chapter 6

I’m desperate to see her again. I’ve set my alarm every morning for the past two days, checking for a return ticket, constantly refreshing the page, just willing a single ticket to become available. Preferably front row, but beggars can’t be choosers. Now, if that isn’t dedication, I don’t know what is! 

But I’ve had no luck. Not yet.

I’ll persevere. Just for her.

Just for you, my dear Catherine.

So, after making a last ditch attempt at some of the street vendors with no success, I resign myself to the fact that I’ll not see her in the show for another night. Instead, I aimlessly wander the bustling streets for an hour and a half to preoccupy myself, and it just so happens that I stroll past the Arts Theatre just as the Queens are starting to leave. And there she is, right on cue. I got a notification about her new Instagram post. The pretty flowers. 

I’ll let her work it out for herself, although I’m kicking myself for forgetting the tag. She’s clever; she’ll know.

I observe from a distance, on the corner between Cranbourn Street and St Martin’s Lane. I bide my time patiently. Whilst on my evening stroll, I made the executive decision that if I can’t see the show, I need to at least do something constructive. I’m feeling particularly confident tonight. My heart is pounding with a mixture of excitement and nerves. Besides, she’ll never suspect a thing. 

Finally, the Queens meet up and start walking away. 

Time to put my plan into action.

I saunter behind them, up Charing Cross Road, allowing myself to fall back a little. I don’t need to worry about being too close behind; I know exactly where she is headed, after all. They’re walking with more purpose tonight, eager to get out of the cold. She’s bracing against the cool October air, which does have a slight bite to it tonight, tugging her black faux fur coat around her for warmth.

As we reach the Tube station, I pull my cap down low, tapping my Oyster card to open the gate, and follow stealthily behind on the escalator. She turns towards the Central line eastbound platform. I can’t believe I’m doing this. 

The train blasts into the platform with a shriek of brakes. I board at the opposite end to her, sinking into a seat as I plug in a set of earphones and pull out a book for good measure. However,I have no intention of reading or listening to music. Instead, I strain to listen intently over the clatter of the tracks beneath us and the squeal of the wheels on the rails. Most of the group's discussion consists of nothing but just silly, girly chatter and giggling, yet my ears prick up when she finally contributes something useful. She’s suddenly rummaging in her handbag, retrieving her phone.

“Hello?”

“Yes! I’d love to! I have the day off on Monday...yeah, that would be perfect!”

“...Costa...the one at Covent Garden?...I could be there for 2?...”

Guess where I’m going on Monday. Not like my diary was particularly full anyway.

As she hangs up and the conversations die down, I find myself reading my book, although keeping alert to her when we arrive into stations. 

After about 45 minutes, the next announcement surprises me.

“The next station is Epping where this train terminates. Please mind the gap between the train and the platform.”

So, she lives all the way out in Epping, a pretty little market town nestled in the countryside, with rolling fields. What a perfect way to escape the congested city after a long day.

By this time though, there are very few passengers remaining to blend in with, so I exit last, keeping my distance. The girls walk for maybe ten minutes through the little streets onto a quiet road, before finally heading up the path to home.

A charming, detached character house.

What else was I expecting from six Tudor Queens?

The house itself is large, constructed in traditional market town style with brick on the first floor and half-timbered on the second. There’s a tidy white gravel driveway leading to a red garage door and well manicured bushes out front. All in all, a very respectful, humble home. 

I gaze up to the second floor, at the neat line of French windows. 

I wonder which one of them is her’s. 


	7. Chapter 7

“Come on, babes!” Anna cracked a wicked grin, victorious, holding up the shot glass for Anne. “Down the hatch!”

The thought of another shot of sambuca made Anne’s stomach churn. Yet, she’d be damned if she was going to quit now, determined to hold onto the little shred of pride she had left after the shameful loss she had just suffered. Her prestigious title as reigning champion of Battleshots had finally been stripped. With that thought in mind, she tossed the shot back without hesitation, wincing at the bitter taste as it went down. 

God, she needed something less painful.

“Right!” Anne leapt to her feet with much enthusiasm, so much so that she stumbled back in her seat, Catherine and Anna on either side already prepared to catch her. They all gave exasperated laughs as she attempted to stand again, trying to maintain a straight face and what was left of her dignity. “What’s everyone wanting?”

“Don’t you think you’ve had enough for one night?” Jane sighed, folding her arms. 

It wouldn’t have been the first time that she and Cathy had had to unceremoniously half-drag, half-carry her out of the pub and pile her into a cab home. 

Anne stuck her tongue out in fierce retaliation.

Obviously not.

“I’m only having one more!” she said defiantly, turning to Catherine to start taking everyone’s orders. “Want another gin, babes?”

She batted away Cathy’s offer of help, adamant that she was still sober enough to manage. As she plonked herself down on a free barstool, clutching the edge of the bar as it wobbled, she was oblivious to the young man who casually slipped into the seat beside her. Much to her frustration, he caught the bartender’s attention before she did. She whirled around, thumping an indignant hand on the bar in protest.

“Oh, I’m sorry! I didn’t realise you hadn’t been served!” The man apologised profusely. “Here, let me get you a drink!” He raised a finger to get the bartender’s eye again.

Anne’s eyes narrowed. He looked awfully familiar...but from where?

“Hey, I know you!” she gave a triumphant cry that was obnoxiously loud, her stool teetering slightly as she pointed a finger at him. ‘You’re the guy from stage door!”

She’d seen him on one or two occasions talking to Catherine, all bright and glossy eyed like a puppy begging for treats. Beside her, the man visibly cringed, self-consciously looking around him, eyes fixed on anything except her. 

Even in her drunken stupor, Anne knew he was definitely not Catherine’s type. He was scrawny and scruffy, with short, dishevelled curly hair, wearing a red and blue check oxford shirt over an old T-shirt with shabby black jeans. He certainly didn’t make much of an effort with his appearance. Despite this, she wanted to play along.

“So,’ she slurred, drawing out the word as she propped her chin on her hand, completely forgetting about the drinks order. “Catherine. D’ya fancy her?” She gave a suggestive raise of an eyebrow. 

The man flushed, his eyes suddenly falling to his lap. He gave a nervous laugh. 

“Umm...well…” 

Anne laughed to herself. She’d caught him completely off guard. Then, she froze, her eyes growing wide as her brain caught up.

“Was it you who sent those flowers? Oh. My. God! Here we were thinking it was David!” she rambled excitedly, bouncing up and down on her stool. The man watched warily as the stool precariously wobbled. Finally, she stopped, and placed a hand on his. “Aww, babes, that is super cute! She loved them!”

The stranger noticeably flinched, immediately retracting his hand as if Anne’s touch had burnt him. He quickly regained his composure, clearing his throat as he brushed his hair from his eyes.

“Sh-she did?”

Anne nodded fervidly, before leaping off her stool in one great motion, losing her balance slightly and bumping into some other men who were standing by the bar, who flashed her a stern glare. She ignored them, stumbling to his side, hooking an arm around his to tug him to follow. 

“You should totally come chat! She’s just over-” She used her free hand to gesture wildly in the general direction of the table.

He tensed at the physical contact, resisting the movement more firmly than he intended. Despite nearly falling over as he pushed her, Anne didn’t seem to notice, as she giggled.

“What? Too shy?” she teased. 

There was a silence. Then Anne had an idea.

‘Tell ya what!” she cried, retrieving her phone from her clutch, fumbling with the clasp of her bag, the phone almost slipping right out of her hand. “How about I give you her number? That way you can phone or text her...ask her out on a cute date!”

As she read out Catherine’s number, he couldn’t help but smirk. He knew it was wrong to take full advantage of a woman who was clearly inebriated, yet he had to admit this was going better than he expected. But it was worth it if he got Catherine. He had his eye on the prize.

Just like that, he had her mobile number! A direct way to contact her.

“Oh, thank you!” he said, trying to conceal his delight and maintain a stoic composure. “Here, let me get those drinks you were after!”

Anne grinned stupidly. Free drinks! Bingo! Not a bad exchange for a number he’ll probably be too shy to use. 

As she grabbed the drinks tray, the glasses shaking precariously as she wobbled, Anne flashed the stranger one last look. 

“Remember to text her, babes!” She winked. “She could use a lad!”


	8. Chapter 8

I loiter on the corner by Costa Coffee, pretending to be engrossed in something intensely interesting on my phone, my cap lowered down to conceal my face. I’m early, just to be on the safe side. 

I know I need to execute this perfectly. I can’t ruin this precious opportunity.

With that in mind, I’ve spruced up my hair and clothes a little; I didn’t miss the critical look of her drunk friend the other night, assessing my suitability as a “potential candidate”. Clearly I fell short. I must admit I’ve neglected my self-care and grooming regime lately. Perhaps I needed to make more of an effort, then getting my prize would be even easier. So, I’ve tamed my hair with a straightening cream and a comb and swapped my usual attire of a favoured t-shirt and worn-out jeans with a casual yet smart blue shirt paired with a new pair of dark blue denim jeans and understated trainers. Even my neighbour, good old Mr Sanchez on the ground floor,called out from sweeping his doorstep as I left my flat.

“You’re looking rather dapper today, son. Out on a date?”

I’d turned on my heel to flash a grin. “Yeah! Wish me luck!”

I sure as hell needed it.

I’m so busy trying to appear absorbed in my phone that I almost miss her, looking up just in time to see her entering the coffee shop. Presumably, she’s meeting up with a friend. I wait a moment before following, joining the queue a few customers behind her. 

“Can I have a tall vanilla latte please?”

Nice choice. 

As she orders, the irritating jingle of an iPhone pierces the peaceful ambience and she rummages in her handbag, apologising to the barista. As she answers, her optimistic tone changes.

“Oh...okay...no, no that’s totally fine! Just text me when you’re done.”

Looks like her friend has let her down. How rude.

Never mind, Catherine. You can have my company instead.

With alarm, I suddenly realise what this means. She’s going to leave early. 

I need to get ready. I have to put my plan into action sooner than I expected.

I casually slip out of the queue, making a small show of impatience to suggest I couldn’t afford to wait, and leave, hurrying around the corner. My ears prick up at her voice as she leaves, hanging up the call, latte in hand.

_ Deep breath. You can do this. _

As practiced, I rush around the corner, as if I’m running late for an appointment. She gasps as her coffee flies out of her hand, which I’ve ensured I conscientiously swipe to the side so it doesn’t splash all over her. Her purse, which she’d had hooked under her arm, falls to the ground. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” I screech to a halt, putting on my best sympathetic look.

But as I apologise profusely, I realise she isn’t even paying me any attention. Instead, her eyes are frantically scouring the pavement. 

In an effort to get her to acknowledge me, I ask “Have you dropped something?”

I know exactly what it is, of course. I saw it roll from her purse and I’ve hidden it between my feet. I have full intentions of taking it, a little keepsake if you will. That is, until I see her become visibly upset, tears beginning to well in her eyes.

Finally, she looks up at me, her face contorting into a scowl.

“Oh. Hi.”

Her voice is like a punch to the stomach. It’s so blunt, full of resentment in that moment. A sudden spark of anger rises in me. This isn’t the Catherine I know. She’s not playing by the script. But it diffuses just as quickly as it came. She’s just upset.

She returns to her panicked search, a single tear trailing down her cheek.

It tugs at my heartstrings. Gosh, I hate seeing her upset.

I realise I need to return it; it’s a small sacrifice to make to redeem myself. Nothing like being the hero who saves the day!

I make a show of looking around, before... “Aha!”

I pluck the charm from the ground and briefly admire it. It’s a pretty citrine gemstone bumble bee charm, with silver crystal wings. Her face brightens with relief, her initial despair and anger dissipating immediately.

“Oh, thank you so much!” She wipes the tears from her cheek with her hand.

And then, I do something I’ve only ever dreamed of doing. My hand brushes against her skin as I return the trinket. A surge of electricity runs up my arm and I feel myself flushing. She quickly slips the charm back into the safety of her purse.

“I keep meaning to get it put onto a chain.” She shakes her head at her own carelessness.

“It’s really unusual,” I comment. “It’s very pretty.”

She smiles but to my disappointment, doesn’t elaborate further. I suppose that means it’s very personal and of great sentimental value to her. 

I stand and smile like an idiot, before realising I’ve nearly missed my cue.

“Here, let me get you another coffee.”

Before she can even respond, I have whirled around back into the coffee shop, proudly producing a fresh vanilla latte a few minutes later, alongside one for myself, just to try it.

Catherine hesitates as she takes the cup from me, raising an eyebrow. “How did you know what I ordered?”

My heart skips a beat. In my excitement I completely forgot to ask what she wanted, so now I look like a complete freak. What am I going to say? That I have telepathic powers? Think, idiot, think!

I give a casual shrug, hoping I am concealing my panic. “Lucky guess!”

Thankfully she laughs and doesn’t question it further. Apparently she’s the type that finds that kind of thing flattering or cute, or whatever. Worth the risk. I breathe a deep sigh of relief. 

I know I’ve said it before, but she’s remarkably beautiful. She has her glossy black hair slicked back into a high ponytail, gold hoops dangling from her ears. A rusty brown glitter eyeshadow and a sharp cat flick eyeliner accentuate her lovely, almond-shaped eyes. Her red-painted lips curl up into a friendly smile.

“Well, thank you.”

I can feel myself start to get jittery, fearing the polite conversation is dying out and she’ll turn around and walk away. But, to my surprise, she keeps it going.

“I haven’t seen you at stage door again yet,” she teases.

“Not yet! But I’ll be back! It’s just so hard to get tickets! The show has just gone crazy, selling out!” I ramble excitedly. rushing to add. “Not like that’s a surprise. You’re really talented.”

“It’s a team effort!” she says modestly, waving a dismissive hand at my compliment. “I’m very lucky to share the stage with five amazing women. We never expected the show to get such a wild reception!”

“I can only dream of being up on that stage,” I say.

A little white lie to keep her talking.

Well, I say a lie. I have no desire to be an actor, but having countless people applaud and adore you every night doesn’t sound that bad. Wow, just think of it! To be worshipped by hundreds, thousands of fans. Just like I worship her.

She tilts her head. “What’s stopping you?”

The question takes me by surprise, and I’m suddenly back in my place, powerless, insignificant.

“Pfft, I definitely can’t do what you do every night! You should hear me do karaoke,” I give a nervous chuckle, rubbing the back of my neck. “I’m definitely no Bruce Springsteen.”

She gives a light-hearted laugh. “I’m sure you’re not that bad! Besides, you gotta start somewhere!”

A ping alerts her to a text on her phone. She whips it out her bag, apologising, before quickly scanning the message and putting it away again.

“Listen, I need to get going but thanks for the coffee.” She lifts the cup in thanks. 

“No problem! Sorry for bumping into you like that!”

Actually, it was a pleasure.

As she walks away, she pauses, looking back at me.

“Don’t give up on that dream of yours.”

Oh, I won’t, Catherine. 

I definitely won’t.


	9. Chapter 9

Catherine would have been forgiven for thinking that would be the last she’d see or hear from the stranger for some time. At least, that is, until he got hold of another ticket to the show: though that wouldn’t be anytime soon - tickets were like gold dust right now. Not like she minded too much. He was, after all, just an enthusiastic, harmless fan, and she’d seemed to take his fancy. Obviously, her “character “ spoke to him and inspired him. She’d since put their innocuous encounter at the coffee shop out of her mind. 

Until today. 

It was the start of a new show week and Catherine was following her usual routine, making final touches to her make-up, when her phone pinged.

She frowned. It was from a number she didn’t recognise.

_Hi, it’s me from the coffee shop. Hope you don’t mind me texting, your friend gave me your number xx_

She groaned. Seriously, who gave him her number? And what could he possibly want? She hoped this wasn’t some little ploy in order to obtain an elusive ticket. Most fans knew that the cast got a personal allocation every once in a while, intended for family and friends. Was he trying to take advantage because he’d had a friendly chat with her?

At the next dressing table, Cathy tilted her head. “You okay, babe?”

Catherine gave a low grumble under her breath, before fixing a smile on her face. “Yeah, I just...completely forgot about something, that’s all.” She waved a dismissive hand. 

Nothing to worry about.

Catherine turned her attention back to the text. _Your friend gave me your number._

Against her better instincts, Catherine allowed curiosity to get the best of her and replied.

_Oh, hi! No, you’re totally fine! What friend? x_

She stared impatiently at her phone, waiting for a response, knowing she wouldn’t be able to concentrate properly without an answer. 

Finally, his reply arrived.

_The green one? Xx_

Anne.  
  


Catherine’s shoulders sank. Why did Anne hand out her mobile number to a complete stranger?

But she had no time to dwell on the matter, as their five-minute call came over the tannoy. Catherine hastily replied, before heading out to the wings.

* * *

The six Queens came offstage upbeat after another successful show, giggling at Kitty’s minor slip on the confetti during the final number. 

But Catherine’s good mood was dampened when she returned to her dressing room to find she had been inundated with text messages. All from him.

_Okay haha xx_

_I just wondered if you’d like to go on a date sometime? Xx_

_? xx_

_Just realised you have a show tonight. Sorry! Xx_

_The offer still stands though xx_

Great. So he had a crush on her. That explained why he was so nervous talking to her the other day. Catherine shook her head, composing a quick but polite response.

_That’s very sweet, but no thank you x_

Bless him. Not many people would have the guts to come right out like that. She had to give him that. He was going to be disappointed though; there was no way she would get involved with someone she’d just met a week ago at the stage door. Besides, she didn’t even know his _name_.

Thinking he would stop now that he had an answer, Catherine proceeded to remove her headpiece and started changing out of her costume. That was, until another text swiftly arrived, followed by another.

_Just one date? You can pick where we go xx_ _  
  
_ _  
_ _I know we haven’t spoken much but we have so much in common. Xx_

_Anne must think we’d be good together. She gave me your number xx_

Cathy turned to look at her with a raised eyebrow. The constant notifications, it seemed, has even managed to get her attention. “Someone’s popular tonight.”

Catherine gave an exaggerated roll of her eyes, smiling. “It’s just Caroline wanting to re-arrange coffee. She cancelled on me yesterday.”

At that, she snatched up her phone and replied again, praying he'd just stop.

_Sorry, I’m not really looking for a relationship right now x_

Or like, ever, Catherine thought to herself. Finally dressed, she applied a bit of lipstick and quickly fixed her eyeliner, ready to leave. Surely, her response was enough to shut him down?

Yet, he persevered.

_A date isn’t a relationship! It’s just a date, no commitments or anything. It would be fun xx_

With a weary sigh, Catherine set her phone to silent and shoved it into her handbag. Hopefully, he’d take the hint from the lack of response.

* * *

Catherine woke the following morning pleasantly surprised to see no new messages from the stranger. She felt a little guilty just blanking him like that, but clearly it had worked. The love-lust puppy would have to pine for someone else.

But, as she was making her way to the theatre, her heart sank when the sound of a notification came again.  
  
For goodness sake. Not him. Please not him.

_Fancy a coffee today before the show? The same place we last met? Xx_

_Vanilla latte, right? Xx_

She forced herself to ignore him, By the time she arrived at the theatre and settled into her dressing room though, yet another text was waiting for her.

_Could take you for dinner tonight if you want? I know an amazing Italian place near the theatre xx_

  
  


Catherine ignored it, resisting the temptation to reject him yet again, knowing a response would only serve to spur him on. He didn’t need any further encouragement. She just hoped having no response would make him realise she was serious about her decision. Or, at least, she hoped he’d get bored of chasing her. That he’d learn it was futile chasing a woman who was not interested. She continued to get into her costume and complete her make-up. As she put down her eyeliner, another ping of her phone.

_I’m sorry, I’m coming on too strong. I respect your choice but I think you’d change your mind if we spoke more xx_

Seriously? Couldn’t he take a hint?

She silently cursed Anne. This was, after all, her fault. If she hadn’t been giving out her number to any guy who asked...and who did she think she was doing that anyway?

She could feel her anger bubbling towards the surface, but she forced it back down. She had to focus on the show. Right now, that was much more important than any bad decision Anne had made. 

Once the show was done, she’d speak to Anne.


	10. Chapter 10

My finger hovers over the “Send” button.

The tiniest shred of self-doubt has crawled into my head, my stomach in knots as I re-read my message for the umpteenth time. I desperately want to initiate a conversation with her and this is the next big leap towards my goal. 

But what if she doesn’t reply? What if Anne was more coherent than I thought and actually gave me a fake number?

There’s only one way to find out. It’s worth the risk. Always worth the risk.

I take a deep breath and send the message.

No going back now.

I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her since our encounter at the coffee shop. I had choreographed it to perfection: I ensured her coffee didn’t spoil her pretty dress, I was the kindly gentleman who bought her another drink in apology, and we spoke. The heroic finding of the little trinket was just an added bonus: the cherry on top. Although, I’m admittedly a bit miffed about that. I really wanted to have it as a keepsake, but I couldn’t do it. Not when she got so visibly distressed at losing it. It clearly had sentimental value. I would’ve felt so guilty walking away with it nestled in my pocket, knowing she’d have gone home devastated.

Never mind. There will be other opportunities.

I start as my phone screen lights up, heart already fluttering.

She’s replied!

_Oh, hi! No, you’re totally fine! What friend? X_

That very generous green girl who was so drunk and careless and has unwittingly helped me get a little closer to you. My lips curl up into a smile. 

And look! A little kiss at the end of her text! Isn’t she a sweetheart?

Typing a response, I lean back at my desk, admiring the corkboard hanging on the wall. To anyone else, it would look like a haphazard collection of pink, yellow and green Post-It notes, a disorderly mess of photographs and scraps of paper. But this is my pride and joy: my little project. And I’m quite pleased by the amount of information I have amassed already, gleaned from social media, interviews and our meetings.

My phone buzzes again, excitedly. Another text from her.

_That’s Anne x_

I flick open my notebook at that, rubbing my palms together. Anne may very well become useful, if she’s as predictable as I assume. I write down her name, then stop. It strikes me that it might be of value to know her fellow castmates’ - her most trusted friends - names. I’ve seen them all as quite insignificant until now, however Anne’s helpfulness has made me realise that maybe it would be beneficial to know their names and faces better. Just in case I could use them later on.

Before going any further, I decide to text Catherine back, whilst she’s being so quick to respond. 

_Okay haha xx_

_I just wondered if you’d like to go on a date sometime? Xx_

Whilst I wait for her response, I log on to my laptop and go to the musical’s website, finding the cast list. And there they all are. Her friends.

Anne Boleyn, Jane Seymour, Anna Cleves, Katherine Howard, Catherine Parr.

Three Catherines, huh? Surely they must go by nicknames or that would get super confusing backstage? Nevertheless, I diligently note down their names in my notebook.

Skimming back through my notes, my eye catches the gaps in my information, the details I haven’t been able to find. One odd thing about Catherine that is missing from my collection is her family. The omission is niggling away at me. There is no mention of any family members on any of her social media platforms, not even a photo of her and her mother on her birthday, or on an exotic beach holiday, posing with cocktails in the sun. Apparently no close sibling bonds either. After all, I should know. I trawled all the way back through her Instagram profile with no luck. Therefore, I am led to conclude one of three reasons: she’s meticulously careful to not mention them on her social media, she has severed all contact with them, or, they are simply deceased. The thought of my sweet Catherine having no living parents to love her makes me solemn for a moment. Such a young, talented girl with nobody to make undoubtedly proud of all her achievements. It’s not worth thinking about. I swiftly push the thought away. 

I turn my attention expectantly back to my phone. No response. Maybe she missed the last notification? I text her back, just to prompt her, then I swear at myself, glancing at my watch. Of course! She has a show tonight. I frantically try to erase my impatience by writing another message.

_Just realised you have a show tonight. Sorry! Xx_

I rush to add.

_The offer still stands though xx_

Accepting I now have seventy-five minutes to kill before I should expect her to reply, I decide to preoccupy myself with my corkboard. My most recent addition is a map of London, circling the Arts Theatre on Great Newport Street, the Costa Coffee shop we met at on Shelton Street and, lastly, her home address in Epping. Underneath the map, I have noted her daily commute home. I’ve also added crosses on streets where I could perhaps bump into her on her way home.

Tottenham Court Road - Epping (Circle Line) - approx 50 minutes

Every time I add a new Post-It note of detail my heart leaps with joy. It’s another piece of precious information about her. I want to know everything there is. 

I am soon engrossed again in her Instagram profile, before finally I hear a ping of my phone. As I read the message, my heart sinks a little.

_That’s very sweet, but no thank you x_

But I quickly shake off my disappointment. She doesn’t mean that, and I can help her realise it. I’m surprised by my sudden burst of motivation.

_Just one date? You can pick where we go xx_ _  
_ _  
_ _I know we haven’t spoken much but we have so much in common. Xx_

_Anne must think we’d be good together. She gave me your number xx_

We’ll just skip over the fact match-maker Anne secretly thought I was not up to the grade. Catherine doesn’t need to know that. I have, after all, started making more of an effort now. 

_Sorry, I’m not really looking for a relationship right now x_

I sigh. She’s playing hard to get. I respond swiftly to reassure her.

_A date isn’t a relationship! It’s just a date, no commitments or anything. It would be fun xx_

All I need is for her to agree to one date. Just one. Then I’ll prove to her that we are meant to be together. We’ll make the perfect couple. She’ll see we have so much in common and realise she was a fool to not see this sooner.

Before long, it is nearly midnight and she’s not replied. I decide to try again tomorrow. Maybe she’ll sleep on it and wake up tomorrow having changed her mind.

* * *

  
  


The next day, I decide to take a new approach. Let’s go back to where we had such a successful meetup.

_Fancy a coffee today before the show? The same place we last met? Xx_

_Vanilla latte, right? Xx_

I hope she’s impressed that I remembered her coffee order. A good date will always remember your favourites.

But, to my dismay, the afternoon passes with no reply. I try again.

_Could take you for dinner tonight if you want? I know an amazing Italian place near the theatre xx_   
  


Guessing she was now deliberately ignoring me, I decided to apologise, hoping to win her back around.

_I’m sorry, I’m coming on too strong. I respect your choice but I think you’d change your mind if we spoke more xx_

Why doesn’t she understand? 

All I want to do is see her. Talk to her.

All I want is for her to be mine.


	11. Chapter 11

Catherine took the opportunity to confront Anne as soon as the show ended, rounding on her as she pranced off the stage. 

“Why did you give that guy from stage door my number?”

The accusatory tone to her voice and abruptness of the question caught Anne by surprise, yet she quickly recovered, suddenly crumpling with laughter. 

“Oh my God!” she cried, steadying herself against the wall. “I didn’t seriously think he would use it!”

Catherine’s eyes narrowed. She really wasn’t in the mood for Anne’s flippant ways, not when she was being bombarded with text messages from an obsessive fan. Noticing Catherine was standing tall, impatiently tapping her fingers against the wall and looking rather unimpressed, Anne sobered a little.

“Oh, come on, Catherine! Seriously? You should be flattered that someone even wanted your number!” Anne turned her back on the other Queen, heading towards the dressing rooms, but Catherine was quick to block her path. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

Anne flung her head back dramatically, giving an exasperated sigh. “Why are you making such a big deal out of it?”

Catherine ignored the question, knowing the other woman was trying to stall her. “What, just because I don’t get all the attention like you do?”

Both of them were oblivious to the other Queens, peering out of the dressing rooms, watching warily from the sidelines. They knew that when Anne lost her temper it could be explosive, but combined with Catherine’s strong-minded attitude, it was a sure recipe for disaster. 

Anne scoffed. 

“No! I meant you should take it as a compliment!”

Catherine tilted her head with impatience, hands on hips, her eyes fully trained on Anne. For a brief second, there was a merciful silence.

“Okay, fine!” Anne held her hands up in surrender, resigning to the fact Catherine would persevere for as long as it took.

“What?”  
  


“I may have been a little drunk at the time! He just really likes you!”

Catherine rubbed her temple, patience wearing dangerously thin. “Yeah, well, I’ve been inundated with texts since yesterday, no thanks to you.”

“He’ll get bored! Honestly, stop making a mountain out of a molehill.”

“That’s not the point, Anne!” Catherine snarled, jabbing an accusing finger in her direction. “It’s an invasion of privacy! You had no right to give out my number to anyone! Not without asking me first!” 

But Anne had had enough. She barged past the older woman with a huff, reaching the doorway to her dressing room in seconds before promptly spinning on her heel to continue arguing.

“Catherine, chill the FUCK out! I was just trying to do you a favour!”

“I-”

“You need to get out more and it shows!”

It was then Anna stepped out to make a futile attempt to intervene, but it was all too late.

A loud slap reverberated around the room, and Anne staggered and fell to the floor. The other Queens gasped, the unwilling spectators of this unfolding show.

The room took a collective breath. Time itself seemed suspended for a moment. The only sound punctuating the silence was the shaky sobs from Catherine, her face contorted into that of horror. She took a hesitant step forward.

“Anne…”

In silent defiance, the other Queen rose to her feet, her cheek blooming red where Catherine’s hand had struck. With a glare as sharp as a knife, and determined to have the final say, she forcefully shoved Catherine away, causing her to stumble and lose her footing. As her head struck the wall, she let out a cry of pain. Despite this, Anne didn’t flinch, whirling around and storming away. Kitty, looking like a rabbit caught in headlights, frantically looked from Catherine to where Anne had disappeared, torn as to where she should first offer comfort, before scurrying after her cousin. 

Catherine sunk to the floor, curling up into a ball, her body racked with sobs. Cathy quietly approached, putting a comforting arm around her, trying to coax the woman up off the floor.

“Come on,” she said softly. “Let’s have a chat.”

* * *

  
Cathy finished gently applying a dressing to the cut on the side of Catherine’s head, packing away the first aid kit before turning back to her with a sigh. She hadn’t uttered a word, opting to sit in silence staring vacantly in the mirror. The wound continued to throb, a stinging reminder of what she’d done.

It frustrated her that Anne was so quick to dismiss her feelings on the matter. Why could she never take things seriously? She seemed completely oblivious to the ramifications of her actions. But that was Anne, through and through. Ever spontaneous. Never thinking of the consequences until it was too late.

Catherine regretted the slap immediately. It was an instinctive action, lashing out her anger.

“Are you okay?” Cathy asked softly.

But she didn’t respond, her eyes falling to her lap.

Cathy rested a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Is it really that big a deal, Cath?” she said, tentatively. “I mean, he’s just some guy that likes you. If you’re not interested, that’s totally fine. Chances are he’ll soon get bored and move on if you don’t reply.”

Catherine’s eyes welled with tears. None of them understood.

If he was just “some guy”, then why did her stomach wind itself into anxious knots at the sight of his texts? Why was the feeling of dread only getting stronger?

If he was just “some guy”, then why did she have such a bad feeling about him?


	12. Chapter 12

I stare at the new Instagram post that she’s just published. She’s in a lovely yellow knit jumper, her head tilted as she laughs, her eyes directed at the camera. Beside her, another pretty girl - but nothing compared to my sweet Catherine - is smiling, drink in hand. I’ve never seen her before. She’s certainly not one of Catherine’s fellow castmates. The tagline reads:

_ Reunited with this one after way too long! Love you @carolineheyland ! x _

My eyes are fixated on Catherine. She’s just so breathtakingly beautiful. Her face is so bright and animated. I can imagine her, next to me, with the same pose, genuinely happy and enjoying my company. Maybe it would be our first date? She would probably post something like:

_ Omg! Can’t believe i didn’t let him take me out sooner! Love this guy to the moon and back x _

I just can’t imagine life without her. 

She didn’t respond to my texts yesterday, much to my disappointment. She must have gotten preoccupied and forgot. Nevertheless, I will drop her a message today. I figure I just need to be brave and take the leap. I simply need to be open and honest and tell her how I feel. My beautiful words will be music to her ears. Then, she’ll have to say yes to a date. She won’t be able to resist.

_ I love you, Catherine. My world feels so much more complete since I have met you and I know it will be whole once we are together. We are destined to be together, I just know it. You’ll feel it too, just let me take you out on a date x  _

Whilst I wait in anticipation, I flip open my notebook and jot down Caroline’s name, adding it to my growing list of personal connections. Then, I return to the photo. There’s no location tag and it’s hard to make out where they are from the background. It could be any regular pub in London. Catherine is no doubt drinking a pink gin.

I should know. It’s what she always orders on Sunday evenings. 

A realisation hits me and I groan.

If she’s currently with her friend, she’ll probably not feel inclined to text me back right away. I hope she doesn’t forget. Again.

No, she won’t. She’s too nice for that.

I really must watch my timings.

Resigning to the fact that I may not get as quick a reply as I first hoped, I browse the show’s website and try several dates for tickets.

Bingo! I’m in luck!

I frantically reserve a single seat in the stalls and give a cheer of jubilation. I’m going to see Catherine again in two days time! Then I can express my true feelings for her face to face. So she can see just how genuine my love is. People always assume words are easier to say when hiding behind a phone or computer screen. Well, I’m going to ensure Catherine knows that this is real. I love her and she  _ will _ be mine. We are destined for each other.

Now, I just need to plan what to say.


	13. Chapter 13

Back at the theatre, tensions were still running high; Anne and Catherine had yet to reconcile. Instead, Anne had resorted to punishing the other Queen with silence, choosing to only acknowledge her by casting daggers at any given opportunity and needlessly barging past her backstage, because, obviously, she was always in her way. During the show, she would deliver any lines directed at Catherine with more snarkiness than was necessary and avoided interacting with her whenever possible, especially during the “MegaSix”, although the audience probably didn’t notice. Catherine, on the other hand, remained solemn and reserved, opting not to be provoked. It was easier to just forge on and allow Anne to make her disdain known rather than cause further friction. Besides, she deserved it after what she’d done. But every bitter line, every sharp glare; it was like someone plunging a knife into her side.

All in all, Catherine just tried to stay out of everyone’s way. Their conflict had inevitably caused a rift between the Queens. Although Cathy and Jane still remained somewhat amiable, trying to maintain some neutrality, she didn’t miss Anna’s lip curling in contempt whenever their eyes locked. But it was Kitty who had clearly distanced herself, and when she did talk with her, it was much more hesitant and subdued. It was like she was afraid she’d hit her too if she said the wrong thing. It broke Catherine’s heart.

It wasn’t as if she hadn’t attempted to apologise, but Anne had simply shut her down.

Couldn’t they all see how hard she was trying?

Another show complete, and wanting nothing more than to get home and escape the constant, overbearing tension of the theatre, Catherine was hoping to evade the fans tonight and slip away discreetly. At least, that was the plan, until she hurried down the steps and collided headfirst into someone.

The stranger.

The obsessed fan who was responsible for starting this whole mess.

With no patience to deal with him and feeling the agitation rise in her chest, she desperately looked for an escape route and barged past him, ignoring his calls after her as she stormed off. 

A strong grip seized her wrist, giving it an insistent tug. She froze, before whirling around to face him in disbelief, the shock of the physical contact and disregard for her personal space serving only to incite her further. 

“Hey! Let me go!” She snatched back her hand, hearing her voice rise an octave, betraying the sudden fear that washed over her. He stumbled back at the force, a look of utter bewilderment crossing over his face. 

Seriously, what was this guy’s problem?

Aware that they were attracting unwanted attention from the other fans eagerly waiting outside and feeling self-conscious, Catherine forced herself to take a deep breath and composed herself.

“Sorry,” she said, trying to keep her tone light and genuine, brushing a tendril of hair out of her eyes. “I didn’t mean to be so harsh. It’s just I have other commitments tonight and I need to hurry.”

Anything to get him away.

Her gentle tone seemed to reassure him, as he relaxed, the familiar goofy smile returning to his lips. “You were amazing as always! Look, I’ll not take up too much of your time-”

Catherine noted the fumbling of his hands, the familiar puppy-dog eyes. She inhaled sharply, predicting exactly what he was going to say and deciding to intervene, realising she needed to reinforce verbally what she’d already said in her texts.

“Look, you seem like a really nice guy and the support you’ve been showing me is great and I really appreciate it,” she assured gently. “But I’m really not looking for a relationship. Or to go on a date. I’m really sorry.”

The stranger simply stood and blinked for a moment as he processed what she’d said, appearing dumb-struck. Catherine was just about to ask if he was alright, before his hands curled into fists, his face contorting into one of outrage.

“You told me to never give up on my dream!” He jabbed a finger accusingly at her. “Well, my real dream is you! And I am not giving up on that!”

Catherine suddenly felt sick, her stomach twisting into knots. His sudden burst of explosive anger startled her, but his words were what left her speechless.

What is usually a calm and civilised stage door quickly became a scene of unsettling, unraveling chaos. She can see, out of the corner of her eye, concerned mothers pulling their children closer to them, and teenage fans tensing and retreating in discomfort. This isn’t the normal protocol, and they know it. She needed to try and diffuse the situation, desperately wanting to ensure it didn’t escalate further.

“Look, I’m sorry if I have misled you in any way but…”

He recoiled, his face horrified. It was like she’d just smacked him in the face.

Someone must have alerted security then, as the stage doorman promptly arrived and grabbed him by the arm.

As he was dragged away, the stranger cries out. “This isn’t over! I know where you live!”

Horrified, her heart skipping a beat, Catherine stops the security guard. “Wait!”

The stranger gives a menacing grin, leaning in to whisper in her ear. His words send a deep chill down her spine, like icy fingers, settling into the pit of her stomach. Those icy tendrils started to constrict around her lungs, making it harder to breathe. 

“42 Lower Bury Lane, right?”


	14. Chapter 14

Despite all my careful planning, bumping into Catherine unexpectedly would always be the ideal scenario. Whenever I wandered the bustling streets of London, I always hoped she’d appear around a corner, or find her browsing in a clothes shop. She’d lift her head, our eyes locking, and she’d smile at me.

I’m always looking for her. 

I’ve grown accustomed to searching for her flowing, black hair and olive complexion amongst the crowds, my heart leaping when I think I’ve pinpointed her. Then, another pretty woman will tilt her head to laugh or turn to face someone and my heart will sink. Nobody ever compares to my Catherine. Nobody ever will. 

So, after another show when she hastily rushed out of the stage door and collided with me, well, let’s just say my heart just about exploded! This was yet another sign confirming that we were meant to be! Fate was literally pushing us together.

But something was wrong. Her usual bright and cheerful demeanor was missing. Instead, she seemed tense, her eyes darting back and forth before she shoved me aside and stormed off down the street. Unable to bear the thought of her being angry or upset, I called out her name, but when she didn't react, I impulsively grabbed her wrist. Perhaps I gripped too hard, but the ferocity with which she whirled around sent me stumbling back. I was left startled. This wasn’t my Catherine. My Catherine would never be so harsh. She was always sweet and gentle.

“Hey! Let me go!” she cried, snatching back her wrist from my grasp.

I was bewildered, but quickly collected myself. Catherine wasn’t herself because something had upset her. After all, I could hear the quiver in her voice.

Finally, she took a deep breath and her face relaxed, her serene features returning. The storm had passed.

“Sorry,” she apologised quickly, appearing flustered as she brushed a lock of hair from her eyes. “I didn’t mean to rush off and be so harsh. It’s just I have other commitments tonight.”

Relief washed over me. She wasn’t angry at me, just agitated because she was running late. Better make things quick, I thought. It’s now or never…

“You were amazing as always! Look, I’ll not take up too much of your time-”

But she intercepted me before I could finish, something else out of character for her. Catherine was usually incredibly patient. She’d interrupted me before I could even begin to profess my undying love for her. The very reason that I came tonight. My mouth suddenly went dry.

Her shoulders sank. “Look, you seem like a really nice guy and the support you’ve been showing me is great and I really appreciate it. But I’m really not looking for a relationship. Or to go on a date. I’m really sorry.”

Instantly, I felt numb. Her words resounded in my head, over and over.

I have been a loyal fan for her, devoted to seeing the show purely for her; the shining star. The other five “Queens” were mere rocks compared to her, the glittering diamond. Couldn’t she see that I was the only one who truly saw her potential, her real talent and beauty? Whenever the odd fan interacted with me in their excitement at stage door, I was always the first to enthuse about her: “Wasn’t Catherine amazing?” “Catherine is my absolute favourite, she’s such an inspiration”. 

I’ve dedicated all of my time and energy to her. How can she be so blind as not to see my devotion to her? That she is mine? We are meant to love one another.

How dare she throw me away like that!

I can’t stand for this anymore. Suddenly, something ignites in me; a fire taking hold. She can’t just break my heart like that. 

“You told me to never give up on my dream!” I jabbed a finger accusingly at her. “Well, my real dream is you! And I am not giving up on that!”

Her face paled and I almost missed the flash of discomfort in her face before she quickly recovered, casting a sidelong glance at the other fans who were now watching our little show. 

“Look, I’m sorry if I have misled you in any way but…”

It was like a kick to the gut, a smack in the face, a knife in my back. Misled me?! What was she talking about?

This wasn’t how it was meant to go. She was meant to tell me that she’s sorry for her mistake, for not realising sooner that I was right and we should go on a date. That we’re meant to be together. That she’s grateful for my continued support.

Before I could continue my tirade, a burly security guard promptly arrived and seized me by the shoulders. He was trying to lead me away from her. I knew I had no choice, I needed to get her attention again.

“This isn’t over! I know where you live!”

Sure enough, she froze, her eyes growing wide. 

“What?” 

I leaned in close then, something I'd always dreamed of doing. But instead of whispering sweet nothings into her ear, I decided to share a little secret. 

“42 Lower Bury Lane, right?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for everyone who continues to read, kudos and comment on my work - it is so very appreciated! :3 As lockdown eases, I am starting to get busier once more, so just apologising in advance if the following chapters are not added quite so consistently.


	15. Chapter 15

Catherine couldn’t sleep.

Her mind was in overdrive. The stranger’s last words still haunted her, echoing over and over in her head. The slightest noise in the house or the glow of passing car headlights outside was enough to make her flinch, her heart pounding in her chest in fear. For hours, she’d kept surveillance at her window, her eyes darting at the sight of any movement, convinced she’d see him huddled behind the bushes or peering around a street corner. Only when she was feeling heavy with tiredness did she reluctantly go to bed, but she just couldn’t switch off. 

The thought of closing her eyes terrified her.

_You’re vulnerable when you’re asleep._

Suddenly, this seemingly innocuous stranger was far more dangerous than she could ever have imagined.

How did he know her address? She imagined him following her home one night from the theatre. The very thought of him shadowing her, tracing her commute on the Tube, made her stomach coil. 

How far would he go?

Was she putting the other Queens in danger now that he knew their home address?

Her head throbbed, consumed with a torrent of worrying thoughts.

Catherine rolled over in bed, cocooning herself in the covers to sob, the overwhelming sense of doom suffocating her in the darkness. 

She didn’t feel safe anywhere. 

And nobody could help her.

* * *

“Catherine?”

There was that insistent voice again: Cathy offering tea, lifting the teapot into her line of vision. It pierced through the continuous torrent of thoughts that had robbed her of any chance of rest.

_Leave me alone. Leave me alone._ **_Leave me alone._ **

It was the following morning, and truth be told, Catherine had barely slept. She couldn’t concentrate on anything at the breakfast table, finding the clamour of voices too loud and irritating. So she sat, in a daze, consumed by the horrible thoughts that had deprived her of sleep the night before. She’d heard Cathy the first time, but her voice had sounded distant, like she was underwater, and quite frankly, it was rather aggravating, penetrating her thoughts. When she asked again though, it was crystal clear.

_He’s watching you. He’s waiting for you. Maybe he’s outside right now-_

“What?!” She finally snapped, thumping her fist on the table.

The table fell mute as everyone flinched. Shocked at her lack of control, and immediately feeling guilty, Catherine took a shaky breath, her shoulders sinking as she buried her head in her hands. All eyes were now on her, boring into her critically. 

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled.

Before anyone could say anything, she scraped back her chair and retreated to her bedroom, tears welling in her eyes. Slamming the door, she leaned on the window sill, taking deep breaths to try and compose herself.

The truth was, she’d found a text waiting for her when she’d woke up this morning.

From him.

A reminder that he was always there. Always thinking about her. Always watching.

Why her? Why was he trying to ruin her life? What was so special about her that he was so fascinated by?

And the Queens? She could still feel the tension in the air from her fight with Anne, their dispute not yet fully resolved and continuing to gnaw away at her too. It simply served to exacerbate the whole situation. If Anne hadn’t divulged her number to him, then he wouldn’t be able to contact her. At least she might’ve been able to escape him. Or at least she’d have the other Queens fighting for her, instead of against. But now she was alone. But she also didn’t feel like anyone was fully on her side, who’d be willing to fight for her.

Alone in dangerous territory.

* * *

Catherine's ears pricked up at the sound of a light tap on her door.

“Hey, you okay?” 

Cathy opened the door a crack, tentatively poking her head in, genuine concern in her eyes.

Catherine exhaled deeply, before turning to face her. 

“I’m sorry for yelling at you...I just…”

She waved a hand dismissively, clamming up again. She couldn’t confide in Cathy.

“I didn’t sleep well last night.” 

“Anything you want to talk about?” Cathy offered gently, but remained by the door.

Catherine shook her head vehemently.

“No, it’s fine, really. I’m just tired. Sorry.”

Seemingly satisfied, Cathy began to retreat. “It’s alright. If you want to talk though, you know where I am.”

* * *

Catherine was on edge as soon as she stepped off of the Tube at Tottenham Court Road. Her eyes immediately scanned the crowded platform, searching for any sign of him. He must have followed her before, undetected. How else would he know where she lived? She trudged behind the others as they reached street level and started their usual walk to the theatre, keeping alert. Every person that passed her, every accidental brush past or nudge made her flinch. Taking out her phone, she hoped the others would think she was falling behind because she was texting. She was right; they didn’t notice how her eyes darted around, never even glancing at the phone in her hand. Not that they would be looking at her too closely anyway, now there was a rift between them. Catherine still felt somewhat excluded, despite Jane’s attempts to include her in conversations and Cathy’s amiable company in the dressing room. There had been some improvement with Anna, who had spoken to her in passing on occasion, but the stony look in her eyes reminded Catherine that all was not forgiven.

Then, she saw it. A flash of a blue shirt heading around the corner.

It was him. She knew it.

As she approached, she held her breath, silently praying the sound of her pounding heart wouldn’t give her away. But as she peered around the corner as she reached the pedestrian crossing, she sighed. It was a man, too tall to be him, walking along innocuously with another woman. Probably his wife. 

Despite this, she remained unconvinced, unable to tear her eyes away. So much so, that she almost missed the green signal at the crossing. 

Her stomach began to twist and coil again as they got closer to the theatre. What if he was waiting outside? Maybe he was lurking on the street corner. Maybe he was the hunter, setting traps to ensnare his prize...and she was the prey

She took some deep breaths, trying to slow her racing heart. _She was safe with the other Queens. He wouldn’t approach her whilst she was surrounded by them._

At that thought, she hastened her pace to catch them up, her sense of security returning as she closed the distance in seconds.

Reaching the stage door, she hesitated and glanced around the busy streets, scanning every street corner. He wasn’t there.

She was safe. For now.

* * *

At the theatre that afternoon, Jane walked past Catherine’s dressing room and stopped in her tracks. The older woman was hunched over her table, head buried in her hands. 

“Catherine?”

Visibly jumping at the sound of her voice, Catherine’s head snapped up, revealing her pale face. She looked ill. 

The truth was, she was drained. The vigilance she’d needed on her way to work had proved exhausting. She was beginning to tire of this cat and mouse chase, feeling the strain of constantly having her guard up. 

Jane raised an eyebrow. “You don’t look too well, love.”

Catherine turned away, giving a meager shrug. “I’m fine,” she mumbled.

But Jane persisted, turning her gently back to face her, placing a gentle hand on her forehead. “You’re burning up. Maybe you should sit the afternoon show out and see how you feel after?”

“No!” Catherine blurted out too quickly, before backpedalling. “I mean, I’m fine. I’m feeling much better than I was earlier…”

She couldn’t bear the thought of being left alone, even in the safety of the theatre. Not with her thoughts, or the constant influx of texts that kept pouring in relentlessly. She needed the show as a distraction, for her mind to have something to focus on something other than the danger she was in. 

Reluctantly, Jane let it go, but not before giving her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. 

“If you’re sure. I’m here if you need me.”


	16. Chapter 16

We were perfect. No, we  _ are _ perfect.

And she’s gone and fucking ruined everything. 

How dare she.

I’d rehearsed my lines and created the perfect scenes for this glorious play forever, only for Catherine, my lead actress in the starring role, to not cooperate. She’s decided it’s not good enough for her and taken it upon herself to rewrite her part! But it’s me who calls the shots.

Well, she’s about to learn why nobody messes with me. Or my work.

She will not be the one to destroy my project.

After all, I always get what I want.

And I want her.

I slam my fist down on my desk in frustration, anger coursing through my body. Incensed at the very thought of her audacity, I snatch one of my photos of her from my corkboard and rip her cleanly in two. 

As the pieces flutter to the floor, I force myself to take some deep breaths, trying to calm down and think rationally for a moment. I’ve come so far, done so much work. I’m not prepared to throw it all away at the first hurdle I come up against. This is just a test. Catherine is lying to herself. She’s making her life difficult by denying herself my love, everything I can offer her. But she’ll come to realise she was wrong. That she made a grave mistake. 

I slump into the seat, feeling deflated after my outburst. As I close my eyes for a second, I see her, her perfect image ingrained on my eyelids: her doe-like eyes going wide when I’d threatened her. 

I had scared her.

My eyes fall to the ripped halves of the photo on the ground and I’m struck by an overwhelming pang of guilt and shock.

What kind of person am I to hurt her? My beautiful, precious Catherine. The most perfect thing in the world.

I must set things right. I take some time to collect my thoughts, to compose a really heartfelt and meaningful message to send to her. She’ll probably be asleep by now, so I want her to have something nice to wake up too.  
  


_ I’m sorry for the way I acted last night. I just wish you could see what I see: a beautiful, sweet rose. It’s what I’ve been trying to show you! Nobody sees your beauty like I do. I know you will give me another chance. Xx _

After I send my message, I find myself gazing up at my beloved project. I’m so proud of it. I find it so reassuring, looking at the collection of photos I have of her. Having her glowing face and bright smile looking back at me fills my heart with joy. I gently pick up the torn photo, pulling out some sellotape from the drawer. Carefully, I repair the damage I made, handling it with delicacy, making sure the tear lines up exactly so it’s barely visible. Making her perfect again. With a smile, I firmly secure her back in her place in the centre of the board, where she belongs. I’m not going to give up on her. She’s mine. She’s just too blind to see it. So it’s up to me to make her see.

Whatever it takes.


	17. Chapter 17

The following morning, after yet another fitful night’s sleep, Catherine reluctantly made her way downstairs for breakfast. Although she had always been one of the early risers and usually one of the first to breakfast, lately Catherine had no desire to hang around for longer than was necessary. She preferred to quickly eat, despite her lack of appetite, and retreating to her bedroom before any of the others could join her. 

Therefore, it came as a surprise when she was greeted by Cathy and Jane, who jumped at her sudden appearance in the doorway.

Jane noticed Catherine raise an eyebrow questioningly and gave a light-hearted laugh. “Oh, thank goodness it’s you! We thought it was Kitty! We’re not quite ready for her yet.”

Catherine’s eyes fell onto the breakfast table, adorned with party banners and pink streamers, a lovingly baked birthday cake the centerpiece.

Her stomach flipped.

Cathy’s face turned dark, folding her arms disapprovingly. 

“You forgot, didn’t you?”

The accusatory tone, combined with the deep disappointment in her voice, cut Catherine through to her core.  _ Another failure. Another letdown. _

When Catherine didn’t reply, her mouth having suddenly gone dry, Cathy gave an exasperated sigh. “What’s up with you now?”

There was a sharp, impatient edge to her voice now, and any small hope of Catherine being able to confide in her or Jane immediately evaporated. Instead, she merely shrugged, eyes cast firmly to the ground. She had no energy left to protest or defend herself.

She was adrift in a lifeboat with nobody to guide her to shore, being washed further and further away from safety. All potential hope of help was slowly slipping out of her grasp, her support base, her friends, fading to nothingness. 

Is this what it felt like? To watch your life crumbling beneath you?

As the guilt ate away at her, Catherine felt tears pricking her eyes but fervently shook them away. If she cried, they would ask more questions, none of which she’d be able to provide answers for. How could she possibly confide in them now? She could sense them tallying up her numerous faults, rolling their eyes.

Despite her efforts, however, Jane seemed to notice her distress. “Love, tell us what’s going on.” The blonde woman, her eyes soft and pleading, leant forward. “We can’t help you unless you tell us what’s wrong. You haven’t been yourself lately and it’s not gone unnoticed.”

But the suggestion, as genuine and reassuring as it was coming from Jane, served only to make Catherine more repulsed with herself, squirming in discomfort. She knew Anne and Kitty would traipse downstairs soon, and she didn’t want to be here for it. So, she clammed up once more, dashing upstairs to the safety of her bedroom.

And there he was.

As if on cue, her phone buzzed with another message, the noise filling the room and imposing on the space around her as though he was actually there.

He always made his presence known, even when he was nowhere near. 

* * *

It hadn’t taken long for an enraged Anne to pound on her door and barge in like an incited bull.

“You fucking forgot? How could you forget?!”

“I-”

“We may have fought but this has  _ nothing _ to do with Kit!”

Catherine could only stand and try and outlast the storm as Anne continued to spew words of outrage. 

“You know what your problem is? You’re so bloody self-centered! It’s all about you!”

Finally, realising someone needed to reign Anne in a little before she completely lost control, Anna side-stepped into the room, resting a hand on her shoulder to ground her. “Anne, let’s just…”

But Anne was going to have her say. She brushed Anna’s hand away with more force than necessary, and even Catherine caught the flicker of shock in Anna’s eyes. 

“I didn’t-” Catherine meekly tried to defend herself, but failed, Anne’s accusing finger jabbing in her face.

“Anne!’ Anna hissed a warning, which was blatantly ignored. Despite not holding Catherine in high regard after  _ that _ quarrel, she still endeavored to keep the peace wherever possible at home. And even she had to admit that ambushing Catherine in her own bedroom was a bit harsh. 

“You’re such a selfish bitch, Catherine! If you have a problem with me, fine, but don’t you  _ dare _ take it out on Kitty! She doesn’t deserve any of it! She’s been nothing but nice to you when you don’t even deserve-”

By now, Catherine had clamped her eyes shut, feeling the room getting smaller and smaller around her. Finally, overwhelmed by the barrage of abuse, she snatched up her purse and phone, ducked under Anne’s arm, and bolted out of the house without a word.

* * *

Everything was spiralling out of control. 

Catherine was becoming desperate. She knew all her problems stemmed from the same source: the stranger. She needed to get rid of him whilst she still could. She still had a small grip on this precarious cliff edge; it would just take all of her power to recover and get back up to the top. He was like a poisonous weed, spreading further and further. He was taking over her life. She’d had that once before, a man dominating her life, and she wouldn’t endure it again. She  **couldn’t.**

She’d vowed in this new life to never allow another man to silence her, to take credit for her work, to deceive and betray her. Never again would she bow complying to a man’s every whim.

With this fresh resolution, she soon found herself sitting in a quiet corner of Starbucks an hour later with Caroline. She’d phoned her out of desperation, and was already struggling to mask it as they talked.

She didn’t know who else to turn to or to trust. The other Queens were out of the question, especially after today’s fiasco. But she was now at the stage where she needed to find a solution, a way to get this guy away. She looked pleadingly at her friend opposite her, then down to her phone.

Caroline gave a knowing grimace. “I know that look. Don’t tell me, you slipped a hot guy your number when you were drunk and now deeply regret it.”

“Something like that.” Catherine gave a nervous laugh, nodding along with her. If only it were that simple.

“Well.” Caroline took the phone from her. “Lucky for you, this girl has become a pro at blocking stupid guys’ numbers!”

Catherine’s eyes lit up immediately. It took all of her power not to leap up and hug her friend as relief and excitement overwhelmed her. 

“Really?”

Caroline nodded. “Which number?”

After a few slightly exaggerated taps, she returned the phone to Catherine, grinning from ear to ear. “There you go! You’re free!”

Catherine stared back at her phone in disbelief and amazement. It was really that easy? She blinked back the tears of relief that were threatening to come. “Thank you!”

Just like that, the weight on her chest lifted.

* * *

En route to the theatre, Catherine passed the little gift store that she’d seen Kitty’s birthday present in a couple of weeks ago, and felt the niggling feeling of guilt rising once more. It wasn’t like she’d forgotten the approaching date. She’d been meaning to buy the gift but kept being distracted, never having the inclination to hang around the streets of London for longer than necessary for fear the stranger was following her. Especially when she was alone and vulnerable. She was relieved to see the present was still in the window display: a pretty rose gold, enamel pendant, etched with a cat’s face. She had the shopkeeper gift wrap it, before setting off to the theatre. After this morning’s commotion, she was dreading it.

Arriving early, she was relieved to see that nobody else was there. She left the card and present on Kitty’s dressing table, before seeking out the quiet and solitude of the dress circle and sitting with her thoughts, wanting to avoid contact with the Queens for as long as possible. She checked her phone, expecting to see a notification for numerous texts, but her heart leapt when she saw that no new messages had arrived from the stranger.

Unconvinced, she decided to wait. She couldn’t let herself celebrate that he was truly gone. Not yet.

By the time she’d finished the show however, there were still no messages.

She breathed a sigh of relief. Tears welled in her eyes. But, for once, they were tears of joy and not fear.

She was finally free.

  
  



	18. Chapter 18

My brow furrows at the little red error message.

_ Not delivered. _

Odd.

I check my reception: three bars. More than sufficient for delivering a text message. So, I try the classic fix-all-problems technique of switching my phone on and off, before attempting to re-send my message. But despite my efforts, the error message persists.

I would usually shrug at this situation and try later, but my desire to show my dedication and devotion to Catherine is like an itch and I need to scratch it. I will simply persevere until satisfied.

I stare longingly at my lock screen photo: the one I got at our very first meeting at the stage door. She needs to hear from me, to read my words and know that I still love her. If I don’t tell her immediately, she might think I’ve forgotten her. That I just had some stupid crush, or it was nothing more than a childish fling.

With that in mind, I make it my mission to find another way. I go a step further. I press the call button on her name in my contacts, my heart beating erratically at the thought of hearing her sweet, dulcet voice. There’s a single dial tone before-

_ Welcome to the O2 messaging service. The person you are calling is unable to take your call, please leave your message after the tone. _

I clench my jaw, stabbing the hang up button. Trust the unreliable phone network to be down when I need it most!

Tapping my foot with impatience, I slump down into the chair at my desk and find myself gravitating to her Instagram. She’s posted a couple of new photos; I make a mental note to get them printed later. There’s one in particular that catches my attention, enraptured by her pure perfection. It’s a professional photo and whoever took it did a magnificent job at capturing Catherine in all her glory, showing off her gorgeous complexion and those stunning eyes. There was one with her seductively posed against a brick wall, her head tilted back towards the sun. Next was a captivating headshot, showing off her authentic smile and showcasing her beauty. I quickly scroll through the comments, all showering her with compliments on how amazing she looks. I smile. I’ve seen it for way longer than any of them. And I know it’s not just on the outside; you can tell she has a beautiful soul inside too. 

My Catherine is the definition of perfection. 

I decide to use the new photos as a reason to message her. I type up a loving direct message, telling her how exquisite she looks in the photo shoot, before sending. 

Yet, an hour later, there is no reply. My lip curls.

Impatient, I decide perhaps going down the traditional, old-school means of writing a letter might be the best way when technology doesn’t work in your favour, standing between our love. I can deliver it personally and guarantee it has been received. The perfect romantic gesture. So, I whip out some writing paper and my best ballpoint pen and draft a letter. But it’s never right. Never perfect. After several attempts, I came to the conclusion writing a letter is perhaps just too much. I’ve already frightened her once, I can’t do it again. Gritting my teeth, I tear up the letters, burying my head in my hands in frustration. 

My hands are itching for my phone once more. I log into Facebook and type her name into the search box: she never accepted my friend request, but that hasn’t stopped me viewing her statuses or photos. O suppose she hasn’t seen my request, since she doesn’t use the platform much. Regardless, I hope for something new, something to spark a conversation naturally. But, I'm struck with surprise when I am met by a very bare profile, with only her profile picture on show. All her photos, statutes and check-ins have vanished.

Suddenly, it dawns on me. The texts, the phone call, the lack of response on Instagram…

The bitch has blocked me!

I slam my fist on the table, spilling pens all over the floor, and for a moment all I see is red. All this time, it’s been her! There’s nothing wrong with the network, she’s just decided to shut me out.

Playing games now, are we, Catherine? Well, we’ll see about that! If she wants to play, then so be it. I’ll show her how I always win. I’m always the winner.

Without a second thought, I grab my coat and jump onto the Tube into the city. There, I purchase several burner phones from different stores. Better to be prepared for any challenges she might throw my way.

As soon as I have the first phone in my hand, I load it up and smile as I send her a new message, grinning triumphantly when it sends successfully.

_ You can’t get rid of me that easily, sweetheart. xx _

The ball is in her court. 

Your move, Catherine.

What’s it to be?


	19. Chapter 19

The following morning, Anne was hogging the bathroom, as per usual, doing the finishing touches to her make-up. Catherine, unbeknownst to everyone else, rose early to shower and had since returned to the solitude of her bedroom, the door firmly closed. Not like Anne cared: all Catherine seemed to do these days was mope and wallow in self-pity. That was, until a sudden loud buzzing noise startled her, making her smudge her mascara. Swearing under her breath, Anne whirled around to see the illuminated screen of a phone, sitting on the edge of the bath. 

It was Catherine’s.

Vibrating again, and again, Anne raised an eyebrow as the sudden influx of notifications dominated the lock screen. A quick glance confirmed that they were all from the same number. 

One that wasn’t a saved contact.

Curiosity getting the better of her, as well as rising concern, Anne swiped open the message inbox. Her heart faltered. 

_ You can’t get rid of me that easily, sweetheart. Xx _

This intimidating text was preceded by numerous others. To Anne’s alarm, they all contained threats. Whoever had sent these was very angry.

Without the courtesy of knocking, she barged into Catherine’s bedroom, the phone held up to show the inundation of messages, eyes firey.

“What the hell is this?”

Outraged that Anne had her phone, Catherine immediately sprung from the bed. Snatching the device back from Anne’s grasp, hands shaking, her eyes fell onto the screen.

The floor beneath her crumbled. 

_ No. Please, God, no. _

She slumped down in despair. This was it. She was defeated. She was done with this cat and mouse chase, done with the manipulation, done with it all. There was nothing else to do but to lay down and let him do what he wanted. But as quickly as it came, that thought made her anxiety grow tenfold. Her eyes stung with tears. What would he do to her? What was this man truly capable of? The unknown terrified her. And yet, it seemed the best option. She couldn’t keep running forever. There was nowhere for her to run, no place to hide: he knew her home address for goodness sake! Even her safe space was now dangerous territory. Where she went, he followed, as pervasive as her shadow. 

There was no escape.

Her fear overcoming her, Catherine let out a sob. She just felt so helpless. 

It was then that Anne slowly approached from behind.

Seeing Catherine so vulnerable, so volatile, a sobering thought dawned on her. 

Anne’s face softened in realisation. All the tension she’d had a moment ago now dissipated.

“You really are afraid of him, aren’t you?”

There was a softness to her voice that hadn’t been there for a long time. For once, there was no sharpness to her words, no malice.

Catherine visibly jumped, having quite forgotten the younger girl was in the room, and briskly wiped away her tears. “Why do you care?”

It came out more harshly than she intended and she braced for Anne to bite back.

Instead, a silence hung heavy between them.

Finally, Catherine cast her gaze up at Anne imploringly, knowing it was pointless trying to hide her red-rimmed eyes. Anne could see the glimmer of longing in her eyes: begging for a truce, begging for forgiveness.

With a sigh of resignation, admitting to herself that they couldn’t evade the subject forever, she joined Catherine, drawing her knees up to her chest to rest her head. For a while, the pair didn’t speak, yet the silence wasn’t awkward, rather, it was strangely comfortable.

Another loud buzz from the phone startled them both. Unable to bear reading any more of his vindictive messages, Catherine threw the phone to the other side of the room, burying her head in her hands. Anne stared after it, the screen still illuminated with notifications. Catherine was truly being hounded by this guy. She hadn’t been hiding herself away in self-pity, she’d been hiding herself away in fear.

Silently, Anne shuffled closer, before wrapping her arms around the older woman. Finally, Catherine unfurled and returned the gesture, pressing her head into Anne’s shoulder.

She’d needed a hug for so long.

“I’m sorry,” she sobbed.

Anne tightened her hug. 

“It’s me who should be sorry. I should never have given him your number.”

Catherine pulled away to wipe away her tears, giving a shake of her head. “You weren’t meant to know,” she sniffed. “You were just trying to help me stop being such a boring, miserable cow.” A choked laugh escaped her, despite herself.

_ “Catherine, chill the FUCK out! I was just trying to do you a favour!” _

_ “You need to get out more and it shows!” _

Anne bit her lip. She had to admit it hadn’t been her finest moment. 

“You know I didn’t mean that,” she mumbled. “I definitely wouldn’t have said it if I’d known this was going to happen.” 

She gestured towards the phone at the other side of the room, now lying eerily silent.

Anne was determined to properly rectify things, even though she knew it wasn’t her fault - she could never have predicted the stranger’s sinister intentions. Then, her eyes lit up, a solution suddenly striking her. She took Catherine’s hands in hers.

“I know how you can get rid of him.”

Catherine tilted her head, doubt written all over her face. That’s what Caroline had said, and her attempt had failed. But something about Anne’s insistence as she pulled her towards the door gave her some fleeting hope. She didn’t have anything else to cling onto.

“Get dressed,” Anne smirked. “We’re going into the city.”

“What? Why?”

Anne stood in the doorway.

“We’re getting rid of that creep.”


	20. Chapter 20

Peace had finally been restored.

With the resolution of Catherine’s issues, the weary, grey cloud that had seemed to shroud the house lifted. The subsequent days were brighter and felt much more like normal. As a result, there had been some kind of silent reconciliation between them all. They had acknowledged, with a huge sigh of relief, that one day Catherine suddenly appeared much more relaxed. She wasn’t hostile or sharp, and it was as if nothing had ever happened. For the first time in weeks, things fell back into their usual routine.

After a few days of the new Catherine, Kitty pranced downstairs for breakfast, filled with a burst of confidence she’d not had for a long time. She announced her presence with her usual sing-song “good morning” before carefully sitting opposite Catherine, who was engrossed, as always, in a magazine, turning the pages in between bites of toast. 

Taking a deep breath, Kitty broke the silence. “What have you got planned for today?”

Catherine’s dark eyes lifted warily from the page she was reading, assuming she was asking Jane, who was busy washing dishes at the sink. But, when she met Kitty’s gaze, she was slightly taken aback to find that the question had been directed at her. And, for the first time in weeks, she didn’t feel the urge to fabricate an excuse. She genuinely had the desire to spend time with the others again, to feel included once more.

“I’ve nothing on today,” she shrugged, trying to keep casual and hide her surprise. “How come?”

“Um, I just wondered if you’d come to the museum?” Kitty asked tentatively, fumbling with her hands under the table. “Cathy says there’s a special fashion exhibition on...we thought you might like to come?”

A sincere smile broke out onto Catherine’s face. Kitty noted how the older Queen had transformed virtually overnight. Her overall demeanour had become brighter; her skin, which had been so dull and lack-lustre these past few weeks, was now glowing; the sparkle had returned in her eyes. It was clear that whatever was draining her before had finally been vanquished. For that, they’d all been relieved. They had just been so worried about her.

“That...that would be really nice. I’d love to. Thank you.”

As if on cue, Anne finally bounded in, unceremoniously plonking herself down into the seat next to Catherine, giving her a knowing wink. “All good?”

At that, Catherine simply nodded.

It had been four days since she’d last received any correspondence from the stranger. Not a single message, call or voicemail. Four glorious days since she’d finally been released from the chains that had been weighing her down for so long, forcing her into submission. For once, she didn’t feel his control, his presence impeding and intruding on her happiness. She couldn’t be more grateful for Anne. Much to her relief, they had also reconciled, choosing to put their dispute aside and forget the events that had transpired at the theatre.

Thanks to Anne, she now woke every morning with a smile and breathed a sigh of relief.

At long last, she was free.

* * *

  
Jane decided to join the other three Queens on their trip, whilst Anna and Anne were left to their own devices at home, squabbling competitively over some video game the others had no clue about. Although she was kept engaged in amicable conversation with the others, Catherine still found herself automatically scanning each platform that the Tube arrived at. It had become a subconscious action. When they arrived at South Kensington station, her eyes fell onto every person on the opposite escalator, and, once at street level, she completed a quick sweep of the area.

_ He’s not here, Catherine. You’re safe. _

She allowed her guard to drop slightly as they entered the museum. It was, after all, a large public place, with plenty of tourists and visitors milling around, and she couldn’t check all of them if she wanted to enjoy the exhibition. So, while each of the Queens wandered around the exhibition at their own pace and leisure, Catherine ensured she always had at least one of them in her field of vision, to reassure her. 

She found Kitty entranced by a stunning dress. It was an elegant, pink, fairytale-esque ball gown, with swathes of tulle finishing a sweeping skirt. The semi-sheer bodice was embellished with intricate beading. The sparkling dress was indisputably fit for a Queen.

“It’s so beautiful,” Kitty breathed, unable to tear her eyes away from the gown.

Catherine couldn’t help but smile at the girl’s face. 

At long last, Kitty cast a wistful look at the older Queen. “I could only dream of wearing something like this…” The girl’s eyes drifted back to the tulle skirt. “I’d feel just like a princess.”

“No.” Catherine rested a firm hand on the girl’s shoulder. “You’d feel like a Queen.” 

At that, they both gave a light-hearted laugh, before Catherine stooped low to scrutinise the cost of such an exquisite item. 

“It’ll only set you back £5,500,” she exclaimed, prompting a squeal from the younger girl.   
  


Finally, Catherine steered her away.

“You think that’s bad? Let me show you a gown that’s worth ten times that!”

* * *

After a couple of hours of admiring various elegant and atrocious dresses, in equal measure, the four Queens decided to enjoy lunch at a nearby restaurant with a terrace, so they could enjoy the sunshine. With some encouragement from Cathy, they decided to go all out and treat themselves: cocktails included. They laughed throughout their meal, bringing up stage mishaps and various pranks that they’d been involved in in the past. To Catherine, it was exactly what she’d been missing. She felt the drink loosen her up, fizzing out the residual worry that lingered from her experience with the stranger. 

It wasn’t long, however, before the conversation turned to her.

“It’s nice to see you back to your usual self again, Cath.” Jane smiled thoughtfully, reaching across the table to take her hand. 

It prompted enthusiastic nods from Cathy and Kitty. 

“We were all really worried about you,” Cathy said, taking a sip from her glass. “You know you can always talk to us about anything. It was clear something was bothering you.”

Catherine withdrew slightly, hating that all the attention was on her. “Oh, it’s fine, really.” She brushed a stray lock of hair from her face, quick to reassure so they could change the subject. “It was stupid really. But it’s done now and that’s the main thing.”

“It was actually really nice just to have this day out with you.” 

Before, she knew it, Catherine could feel the familiar prick of tears threatening, her lip quivering. But she shook her head and swallowed, keeping them at bay. “I’ve really missed it.”

Seeming to sense her upset, Kitty quickly scooted across to her side, wrapping her arm around her in a tight hug. Cathy, to her right, followed suit. 

Safe with her friends, Catherine vowed to never let any of her problems overwhelm her the way they did before. Nobody was going to control her, rule over her life and stop her enjoying herself.

She had her girls by her side to help and offer support now. 

And she was stronger because of it. 


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You all didn't seriously think I was done with torturing Catherine, did you?  
> The stranger isn't quite finished with her yet...

I stare expectantly at my phone, hoping to see the screen illuminate with a notification of a text message. But not just any text.

It has to be from Catherine.

I know she’s going to respond to me. Perhaps she just doesn’t know what to say? Maybe the sweet words in my last few texts have rendered her speechless?

And yet, there’s nothing. Not a single text. Despite my determination and devotion to her, letting her know every day how much I adore her, she hasn’t responded to anything. It appears she’s giving me the silent treatment. 

But I haven’t physically seen her in days and I’m craving her, to hear the sound of her voice. That sweet, soft tone that satiates my hunger.

If she won’t reply to me, I’m going to call her instead. Then she’ll have to pick up. Maybe she thinks I’m mad at her for blocking me. That’s it! I just need to set the record straight with a phone call, reassure her that I’m not mad in the slightest. She’s got it all wrong and I still love her just as much. Nothing can change the way I feel about her.

With that, I snatch up my phone and press the call button. I wait to be connected. One dial tone, two...I can almost hear her voice in my ear already, that pleasant greeting as she answers…

On the third dial tone, my heart leaps as the call is answered.

“Hello?”

I hold my breath. It’s not my Catherine. 

“Hello?’ the gruff male voice asks again, this time more impatient. 

“Um, hi. Sorry...is, uh, Catherine around?”

She must have left it in her dressing room at the theatre and a passing tech guy has answered, hearing it ringing and thinking it was important.

There’s a hanging silence on the other side before the strange voice replies.

“Sorry, I think you’ve got the wrong number, mate.” 

He promptly terminates the call.

I stand frozen to the spot, my hand still gripping the phone, the unrelenting dead line tone ringing in my ear. 

No. She can’t have.

Stabbing the home button, I immediately navigate to her Instagram. But I’m stunned to see it bare, all her beautiful photos and videos gone, replaced with an icon and-

_ “No Posts Yet” _

Fuck!

I throw my phone across the room, yelling with fury.

Suddenly, I’m overwhelmed with rage. My only real means of getting my fix is gone. I’ve thankfully saved almost all of the photos and videos she’s uploaded to my computer - my personal favorites I print and pin to my project board - but the thought of not knowing where she is, or what she’s doing, or even how she looks that day, is enough to infuriate me. 

How dare she! How fucking dare she!

Grabbing the nearest thing on my desk, my hand meets paper and I rip it into shreds without a second thought. Then, I grab the pinboard. I rip it off of the wall and throw it down with an almighty crash. 

The photos quiver, her face smiling back at me mockingly. 

That’s when I’m struck with the perfect idea.

If she won’t let me contact her, it’s up to me to find her. 

It’s up to me to go out and track her down.

Nothing will get in the way of our love.  _ Nothing _ .

With a burst of motivation, I pull out my notebook and flick through the pages.

That’s when I find it.

There’s no hiding from me now.


	22. Chapter 22

It was all too good to be true.

Having regained her confidence and pushed the stranger to the furthermost part of her mind, Catherine was socialising freely with the Queens again. She jumped at the opportunity to help Jane do the grocery shop, readily accepted Kitty’s suggestion of a shopping trip and frequently indulged in a Starbucks with Anne, Cathy and Anna. 

But what she was oblivious to was that this freedom meant she was giving herself more exposure. And with more exposure, she was more exposed to him. 

At first, Catherine had simply dismissed it as traces of paranoia, slipping through her the stronger headspace she was working on building. She thought she saw him standing at each bus stop they passed, or riding in the next carriage of the Tube. Every time, she shook the thoughts away, reprimanding herself.

That is, until one day after an eventful matinee, when the show was forced to cancel the evening performance due to technical issues. 

Finding themselves with precious free time, the six Queens decided to treat themselves to a rather indulgent lunch at a local bakery. The cafe itself was rather quiet at this time of day, with only a few tables and booths occupied. As usual, Anne and Kitty began to playfully squabble over the menu, Anne taking a long time debating whether it was socially acceptable to consume a “sharer” cake all to herself whilst Kitty fought to see what she wanted. Jane merely shook her head in despair, Anna rolled her eyes and Cathy, having already decided her order, already had her nose in a book. 

Finally having placed their orders, Anne and Kitty excused themselves to go to the bathroom. As Catherine slipped back into her seat, her eyes scanned the pretty cafe, before freezing on-

Her heart faltered. 

No. It couldn’t possibly…

And yet, her eyes had locked with the stranger, three booths down, his dark eyes staring ominously back at her. She blinked, once, twice, just to make sure she wasn’t seeing things, that this wasn’t some trick of her imagination, some of the paranoia creeping in once more and playing games with her mind. 

But it was unmistakably him. 

The room began to spin. Suddenly, it felt like something was constricting her throat, making it harder to breathe as a rise of panic ripped through her. She wasn’t safe here.

Seeing the other woman’s pallid face, Anna, sitting opposite, raised an eyebrow.

“I need to go.” Catherine leapt to her feet abruptly, almost knocking over Jane’s tea in the process, provoking her to also turn her head and look at Catherine with concern, Cathy lowering her book in silence.

“What’s wrong, love?”

But the urgency to get out of the cafe was too much. She had to escape.

Seeing the woman preparing to move, Anna grabbed her wrist firmly, eyes intent as she tried to anchor her back to the table. “What is going on?” she said, in a low voice.

But Catherine was already in flight mode, tugging her wrist free with a sharp scratch and rushing out of the premises without another word. 

They all stared at the door in bewilderment.

* * *

Feet pounding the pavement, gulping for air, Catherine hurried away from the cafe, not caring which direction she went in. All she wanted was to put as much distance between her and the stranger as possible. Her vision blurry with tears, she didn’t dare look back. 

After about ten minutes, Catherine finally stopped, slumping against a wall in a quiet, secluded street to get her breath back. She realised she was trembling.

Where was she going to go?

Regardless, she knew one thing. She couldn’t bear the thought of being followed on the Tube. So, without a second thought, Catherine hailed a cab off of the street and said the first place that came into her head.

Home.

But then she had a horrible sinking feeling in her stomach: he knew where she lived too. But where else could she go? As the cab set off towards her destination, the sound of her phone ringing made her jump. She hesitated as she delved into her bag for it, fumbling until she got the guts to look at the screen.

Anna.

“Do you want to tell me what that was all about?”

There was no malice in her voice, but it was stern and firm. Catherine was sure, despite her not even having raised her voice, that Anna was angry with her.

“Look, I’m sorry I just-” Catherine began to break down once more. 

She thought things were getting better, her friends were behind her, but why now did it feel like it was so fragile and beginning to crumble again?

But it appeared Anna didn’t have the patience for her right now. She heard her exasperated sigh. 

“Where are you?”

Sensing Anna’s hostility, Catherine shook her head. 

“Why do you care?” she snapped, before terminating the call.

Once again, she had disappointed them.

Once again, she was falling.

Falling, falling, falling.

* * *

When Catherine finally arrived home, the silence was eerie and made her feel sick. She just couldn’t bear to be confronted by them all. Quietly, she walked into the kitchen, where she found the others had congregated. She quickly glanced from one to the one, almost pleadingly, longing to see one of them speak up to comfort her, But, much to her dismay, it was Anna who took the lead.

“Care to explain what’s going on?”

Catherine’s shoulders sank.

“You just up and left! We didn’t know where you went or anything! What the hell, Catherine? I thought you were better! But it’s alright,” Anna’s tone was sharp, a note of sarcasm permeating her words. “I managed to cover the bill.”

“I’ll give you money for it I’m sorry I-”

Her words spilled out in one long sentence, just a panicked ramble.

Anna shook her head. It wasn’t good enough.

“What is going on with you?”

But for once, Catherine was too tired to even defend herself. She was drained from the effort of trying to stay alert constantly, watching for him, whilst also trying to maintain her friendships, carefully trying not to upset anyone...and she was quite clearly failing miserably at both. Nobody could see how much she was struggling, nobody understood. It was hopeless anyway. Even if they found out, there was nothing they could do to prevent it. They couldn’t see the underlying reasons why she did what she did, only what was on the surface: she rudely left with no explanation and no consideration for them having to pay. They thought she was being an entitled, spoiled brat.

She couldn’t take it any longer. The fragile branch of composure she had been desperately clinging onto finally snapped.

“Nothing’s wrong with me, alright?! Nothing!”

She snatched her bag from the table and bolted from the kitchen as she shouted. “Just leave me alone!”

None of them could understand the hard impact of reality crashing down once more on her. She’d been convinced this time that she was free and yet, the stranger had reared his ugly head once more, like a snake shedding its skin and leaving a shell of itself behind, seemingly dead until she realised he was really behind her, waiting to attack. She would still be marvelling at the corpse until it was too late and she suddenly found herself being suffocated.

A silent killer.

* * *

That night, long after the others had retired to bed, Cathy was still awake, as usual, diligently writing. Yet, the usual quietness of the house was punctuated with the muffled sounds coming from Catherine’s room next door. It was something she couldn’t ignore. 

She was sobbing. Heart-wrenching, wracking sobs. It was taking all of Cathy’s self-control not to rush to console her. 

But Catherine had shut them all out once more. Just when they’d thought they’d made progress. It seemed that Catherine’s moods fluctuated without explanation. And that was what was frustrating them most of all. Catherine refused to confide in any of them. She wouldn’t tell any of them what was wrong, what was making her so uncharacteristically sharp, tense and well… rude.

It was something that Cathy found her thoughts revisiting tonight, listening to the other girl cry alone, and it disturbed her. Was she in some sort of trouble? Was she hiding something? What was seriously so bad that she couldn’t tell any of them?

In the morning, Cathy gingerly peeked her head in. Catherine was still asleep, her cheeks red and streaked wet with tears, her pillow tear-stained. She’d fallen asleep crying.

They had to get to the bottom of this. 

They needed to know what was wrong.


	23. Chapter 23

I’m so close. She’s almost in my grasp, at last.

She’s almost mine.

This time, I’m not going to let her get away. 

I figured if she didn’t want me to check up on her social media platforms or by phone, then I should pay her a little visit or two. So, I followed her around the city all week. I found my notes of her usual haunts and, being so predictable, Catherine was relatively easy to find. 

She really doesn’t make things difficult. It’s like she wants me to find her.

So, I found myself following her: to the theatre, to Starbucks, to the little vintage clothes store. And, of course, back home. I managed to move around undetected. I’d sit, back to her in Starbucks with a newspaper, eavesdropping on her conversations with her friends. Her regular order was a chai latte, like Costa, but some days she liked to switch it up with a hot chocolate. She seems to have forgotten all about me, thinking she’d got rid of me simply by blocking me and changing her phone. Some nights, after the show, I’d carefully wait near the station for her to appear, then shadow her home, keeping my distance yet still staying close enough to see her, to watch her every move. Once in Epping, I’d find a comfy spot shrouded by hedges and wait for her bedroom light to flick on.

There were so many opportunities where I could have surprised her, but no, it had to be perfect. I was going to bide my time, be patient, and wait for the best opportunity. So, I continued for another week, quenching my constant thirst by following in her footsteps.

But one fateful day, I was finally spotted.

I’d been loitering on a corner near the theatre and had watched as Catherine and her fellow castmates headed down the street. Naturally, I followed them, to a little bakery cafe where I casually took a seat in a booth a few rows down. I concealed my face with a menu, stealing occasional glances, unable to resist. As I sit there, I imagine her finally mine, how we could be sitting here together on a date. She’d been laughing at one of my jokes, tilting her head back as that beautiful, bubbly laugh of hers floated around the cafe. And it would be because of me! As we waited for our cakes, she’d rest her head lovingly on my shoulder, distractedly stirring her cup of tea. I could smell the sweet scent of her perfume, of the shampoo lingering in her hair from her morning shower. As I stole another glance over at her, my arms began to tingle; my whole body lit up as electricity surged through my veins.

Unexpectedly, she looked up. Our eyes locked. My heart faltered.

Then, it was like everything happened in slow motion. Her amazing doe-like brown eyes suddenly flashed with fear, she blindly fumbled to snatch up her handbag and leapt up from her seat, raising questioning gasps from her friends at the table, before racing out of the cafe. I fought the overwhelming urge to follow her again: it would look too obvious if I up and left right after her. Better to let the dust settle, then try and catch up with her. 

I sidled further into the booth so I was no longer in the line of sight of any of her friends and took a sip of my chai latte.

I’m so close.

Now is the time to put my plan into action.

Tomorrow, Catherine will be mine. 


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to take this opportunity to wish all of my readers a Happy New Year! Thank you so much for all the support you have given my work over the past year - it really does mean so much!

_ Breathe, Catherine. Just breathe.  
  
_

But she couldn’t. She was amazed that she’d managed to hold it together for the entire show, but she couldn’t hide it anymore. Having the performance to focus on had served as a small distraction, but now the stark reality had come crashing down around her. The curtain was down, there was no “character” to shield her, no story to escape into. There was just the horrible, stifling reality. Catherine gripped her dressing table desperately as a sudden rush of vertigo made the room sway, her heart hammering in her chest, in her ears. She clamped her eyes shut. The room suddenly felt too small, closing in, suffocating her.   
  


“Catherine?” came Jane’s soothing voice, as she stepped into the dressing room, an eyebrow raised in concern. “Are you alright, love?”  
  


But it was evident that the other Queen was far from alright.  
  


Jane hadn’t missed Catherine’s dash off stage at the quickest opportunity after the curtain call. She’d seemed a little distracted throughout the show, some of her lines, usually delivered with much gusto, falling flat, her choreography not as sharp. Clearly, Catherine hadn’t been feeling in top form, but the others had dismissed it as her being a little under the weather. But now, Jane has concluded that it wasn’t that simple.  
  


Hearing a voice piercing the stifling silence seemed to snap Catherine out of her daze, as a sob escaped her lips. Seeing her start to tremble, Jane immediately went to her side, easing her gently into a chair before her legs had the chance to buckle. She was admittedly a little rattled herself; this had been going on for far too long.   
  


“What’s going on?” Jane tried desperately to mask the waver in her voice as she drew up a second chair. “Catherine, you’re scaring me.”  
  


But Catherine simply shook her head, the tears still falling thick and fast. A ball of anxiety was beginning to form in Jane’s stomach. What could possibly be wrong?   
  


Several possibilities raced through her mind. But, realising Catherine was in no state to talk, she did the only other thing she could think to do to console her. She pulled her close, enveloping her in a comforting hug, concealing the tears forming in her own eyes. Catherine practically melted into her, finding Jane’s soothing contact grounding. She felt safe wrapped in her arms. For the first time ever, she finally understood why Kitty and Anne were always quick to seek comfort from the blonde Queen. She burrowed herself into her, wanting to stay there for as long as possible. 

After a moment of silence, punctuated only by Catherine’s harsh sniffs, Jane gently tried again.  
  


  
“What’s wrong, sweetheart? You can tell me anything, you know that.”

But as soon as she spoke, the other woman tensed up once more.

As if on cue, Anne stormed in, like a whirlwind, worked up into a frenzy and spewing words.

“It’s him, isn’t it? That  _ creep _ is going to get it! I’m-”

She froze in her tracks when she saw Catherine wasn’t fired up on the defense, but curled up in anguish. Her features relaxed, realising just how terrified she was. 

“Catherine?” 

Her voice, just a second ago booming and full of vindication, was now tiny and quiet. 

Jane looked up at her pleadingly. “She won’t tell me what’s wrong! Anne, what is going on?”

Just then, Cathy calmly appeared at the doorway. 

“Catherine?”

When the older woman didn’t respond, even as Jane pulled away, Cathy slowly entered the room, kneeling down in front of her, taking her hands in hers. 

“Hey, listen to me, okay?” She brushed a tendril of black hair behind Catherine’s ear. “Security are aware and they’re taking care of it. You’re safe here. We’re not going to let anything happen to you.”

Looking to Jane and seeing the anxiousness etched in her face, Cathy silently rose, took her hand and gestured with her head toward the door, beckoning her to follow. She cast a sidelong look at Anne, who simply nodded as she joined Catherine’s side. She knew someone needed to stay with her.

Cathy gave an acknowledging nod, before leading Jane down towards the stage, somewhere where she knew they wouldn’t be overheard. It was where Kitty and Anna were sitting, on the edge of the stage, talking quietly. They looked up upon hearing their footsteps, having decided to keep their distance, not wanting to crowd and overwhelm a clearly distressed Catherine. 

“Is Catherine okay?” Kitty asked.

“She will be,” Cathy assured, before taking Jane up the stairs to a landing overlooking the stage. 

Jane was losing her patience.

“What’s going on?”

Cathy sighed, leaning over the banister. “Remember that guy that Catherine mentioned she’d seen a few times around and about? At the pub, at the stage door?”

Jane nodded.

“Well, turns out it was him inundating her with messages. He’s been doing it for weeks. Things escalated pretty quickly, and one day Anne found her phone and saw all the texts he was sending. They were constant and his words were...well, threatening.”

Jane took a sharp intake of breath. Catherine’s irrational, erratic behaviour. All this time, she’d been scared.

“Turns out he’s been stalking her. This whole time.” Cathy continued. “He was in the audience again tonight. Front row. Catherine clocked him pretty quick.”

Jane leant back against the wall, feeling both stunned and guilty. It certainly wasn’t what she’d expected.

“She’s terrified, Jane. This guy is a serious creep. I thought it was quite innocuous at first but…” She paused, taking a long breath. “This guy means trouble.”

It explained everything. Catherine was terrified to leave the theatre; there was only one way in and out. She knew she couldn’t avoid him. She felt trapped.

After a moment’s silence, Jane looked up at Cathy. “What are we going to do? How can we help her?”

“We do what we always do: stick together. He’s never actually approached Catherine when she’s been with us, so perhaps he’s intimidated by us. After all, he is outnumbered.”

Jane nodded. It was true: there was safety in numbers.

“A visible doorman is going to stay by the stage door. Hopefully, that’ll be enough of a deterrent.”

Jane bit her lip. “And if that doesn’t work?”

Cathy sighed. 

“Let’s hope it doesn’t even come to that.”

* * *

Meanwhile, Anne had decided it was time to make things up to Catherine. She gently wiped away the other Queen’s streaked mascara and tears from her face. Her sobs and shaking had finally subsided. Now, she simply sat, subdued.

Anne thought for a moment, before finally breaking the silence.

“It was him you saw at the bakery, wasn’t it?”

Catherine simply nodded. She took a deep, shaky breath, swallowing hard, before she dared to speak.

“He’s been following me everywhere. I can’t get away from him.”

Anne reached out her hand to rest on hers. “Why didn’t you say something?”

Catherine shook her head vigorously. “I just couldn’t. I was too scared. And I wasn’t sure any of you would believe me…”

Anne didn’t miss the trembling in her voice. But nothing could have prepared her for what Catherine would say next. 

“He knows everything, Anne. He even knows our address.”

As that, Anne’s eyes grow wide with horror.

“What?” 

Catherine nodded. “He followed us home one night, after the show-”

“Fuck, Catherine. We need to go to the police!”

Trying to desperately tug Cathering up from the floor, Anne leapt to her feet with such urgency that she stumbled. The thought that this creep knew where they lived and had  _ followed _ them all made her skin crawl. Who knew what he was planning to do with this information?

But Anne’s urgency and how fast things were escalating made Catherine’s stomach twist. She desperately needed some fresh air. So, she allowed Anne to pull her to her feet, but then she broke away, making straight for the stage door. Security had dealt with him, so she’d be safe. 

But he hasn’t gone. How foolish for her to think he would be. Security had moved him on, but they couldn’t stop him standing across the wide road, hanging out by Pret, his eyes staring intently at the door. 

It’s suddenly hard to breathe.

Following quickly behind her and noticing Catherine frozen to the spot, Anne follows her eyeline and gasps. She knows exactly what she’s about to do.

“Catherine, wait!”

But she’s already bolted, without another thought, down the side street. 

She needed to escape. She needed to get as far away as possible. 

His net was closing in. 

She couldn’t afford to be caught.

  
  



	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: There is an instance of a graphic depiction of violence in this chapter. 
> 
> Please don't come at me with your pitchforks...

It was over in seconds.

As Catherine stopped to catch her breath, she turned, and the world leapt into painful technicolour. 

Before she could even scream, his hand clamped over her mouth. The strong stench of beer and sweat forced its way into her nose. Her skin recoiling, Catherine clawed at him in a futile effort to be released. But as she dug her nails into him, he retaliated, pinning her hard against the wall and looked her straight in the eyes, his own wide with wicked pleasure.

He couldn’t believe it. At long last he had his prize!

She dug her nails in again, determined to let him know she wasn’t giving up without a fight, but he was too strong. As the realisation hit her, her body seized up, paralysing her in his grasp. Resisting was a hopeless waste of energy; he could easily overpower her.

“Now, why were you running away from me? Hm?” His voice was low, casual for now, as he tilted his head to admire her, tenderly looping a tendril of hair behind her hair. He ignored the way she shuddered as the tips of his fingers grazed her skin.

When she didn’t respond, he leant in closer. Catherine turned her head to avert her gaze, choking on the sickening smell of his breath.

The stranger moved her head back with a solitary finger, forcing her to look at him once more. 

He wanted to drink in her beautiful features for as long as possible whilst she was ensnared in his web. Silently, he chuckled to himself. He hadn’t expected her to be this easily malleable. 

“Now, are you going to be nice and cooperate with me, sweetheart? I don’t want any screaming.”

Cautiously, and much to her relief, he released his hand obstructing her mouth. 

He stood back slightly and looked her up and down as if he were admiring a work of art. Catherine, too paralysed with fear to move, simply stood frozen against the wall, a solitary tear trailing down her cheek. At the sight, his face suddenly softened.

“Oh, Catherine.” He shook his head, reaching out gently to wipe the tear from her cheek. “Why can’t you see? I’m the only one who really sees and appreciates how truly talented you are...how beautiful you are, inside and out.”

There was no malice in his voice and, for a moment, Catherine questioned her fear. He watched and smirked as she relaxed in his arms, finally taking a breath. 

This was just too easy.

After a long pause, swallowing hard, she tried to find her voice, but only a whisper came out. 

“What do you want?”

This seemed to amuse the stranger. He raised an eyebrow.

“What do I want? Oh, come on, Catherine! I know you’re smarter than that!”

She turned her head away, clamping her eyes shut in an effort to quell the tears threatening to come. There were so many awful scenarios going through her head. This had been going on for too long. She just wanted it to all end. Why was he insisting on prolonging her suffering?

He approached her once more and she flinched as he caressed her cheek, marvelling at her at his mercy.

Catherine decided it was now or never. She took a deep breath, opened her eyes and tried to make a move, but her body failed her.

He grinned, sensing the spark of defiance in her eyes before even she did.

His hand returned to her wrist, slamming into the brick wall. His grip was possessive, as tight as a vice, making her cry out.

“Now, we can do this the hard way or you can come quietly…” He ran his fingers across her skin, tracing her arm tenderly. “You don’t want to force me to get nasty.”

Before she could even question where he was planning to take her - or even more unbearably, what he was going to do - they were interrupted.

“Let her go you creep!”

Anne stood at one end of the street, flanked by the other Queens.

In response, the stranger let go of her wrist, only to softly interlock their fingers, smiling at the other Queens.

“Tell them you’re fine and you want to come with me,” he whispered into her ear.

He felt her body going rigid, ready to run. When she failed to speak, he dug his fingernails into her palm, making her wince.

She looked up at his smile, bright and wholesome. But something about his eyes, she knew, was telling her that there’d be consequences if he had to ask twice.

Catherine bit her lip. She knew it was useless trying to retaliate - if she made the wrong move, he could hurt her friends. She swallowed and forced herself to look up at the Queens.

“It’s okay.” Her voice betrayed her, breaking on the words, as silent tears began to form. Another flicker in his eyes forced her to compose herself. “It’s okay. We’re just talking. I...I want to go with him.”

But Anne remained unconvinced, standing her ground at the head of the group. 

“That explains why he’s holding you with a vice-tight grip then.” She nodded towards the stranger’s hand. In response, the stranger abruptly released her.

“Catherine? What do you want?” His voice was sickeningly genuine.

“I-” She could feel her heartbeat. “I want to go with him.”

It was safer this way.

Anne took another step forward, reaching out a hand to Catherine while addressing the stranger.

“Whatever you want with her, you can’t have it. Let her go and we won’t involve the police.”

The stranger laughed as Catherine shook her head, clearly finding the attempt at talking him down entertaining. 

“And why would I do that?”

Putting her hand down, Anne shrugged, keeping her cool as she moved closer. “I think you’ll find stalking comes with a pretty high jail term.”

Truth be told, Anne was bluffing. The only solid evidence they had right now was the texts and calls on Catherine’s phone and she wasn’t even sure that would be sufficient enough to guarantee an incarceration. 

The stranger however, was starting to lose patience. He had no intention of sharing his prize with anyone. As Anne moved closer, Catherine could feel the stranger tense. He was outnumbered, but he still had the upper hand, and he clearly knew it.

Within moments, Anne had gotten too close.

Catherine gasped as she felt the cool, sharp blade at her throat, her heart hammering in her chest. 

“Come any closer and she gets it!” he growled, forcing Anne and the others to retreat back.

But, much to her surprise, Anne seemed unperturbed by his threat. She stood up straight, having taken a few obedient steps back just for good measure and to reassure Catherine that she wasn’t going to risk doing anything stupid. She had a plan. Sort of.

She knew one thing: the stranger had no real intentions to harm Catherine. 

After all, he desired her. If he was so infatuated with her, he wouldn’t dare “spoil” her by hurting her, right?. 

So, armed with what she hoped was understanding, Anne smirked. 

“We know you’re not going to harm her...”

Catherine realised this was her window of opportunity, that Anne was distracting the stranger by engaging him in conversation, luring him into a false sense of security. Before, she would have relinquished herself, accepting her fate. But she had the Queens. She had to fight for them. At that, she gave a sharp jab of her elbow, digging it into his chest, just enough to temporarily wind him, and bolted without hesitation.

But he was too quick. 

With a snarl, he lunged at her forcibly, seizing her by the arm and pulling her back. She felt a sudden flash of pain and she saw Anne’s face pale, her eyes falling onto the sleek cut on Catherine’s arm, blood oozing. 

The stranger gave a wicked grin, triumphant. He pressed the knife closer against her neck, a thin bead of blood beginning to form. 

For once, he didn’t care that she was petrified, that he was the reason she was bleeding. He finally had everything he’d ever wanted in his grasp. 

Anne reached out her hand again, but when Catherine moved to take it, the stranger pressed the knife deeper, and suddenly Anne was backing away, hands instinctively jumping to the scar on her own neck.

As Jane shielded a sobbing Katherine, Cathy and Anna moved in, desperately trying to distract the stranger before it was too late. 

“Run, Catherine!” 

Catherine didn’t need to be told twice. Confused and panicked, she bolted once more towards Anne. But, as she began to slip from his grasp, his hand tightened around her wrist, pulling her back with enough force to knock them both into the wall. The sickening crack made Catherine’s head spin, and she barely noticed as he raised the knife again. 

He’d be damned if he went down without her. They’d be martyred together, a modern day love story, finally united where nobody could ever come between them again. If he couldn’t have her, nobody could. 

So, he gently stroked her hair, whispering all the beautiful words he’d been saving, pressed the knife deep into her throat, and sliced. 

For a second, it seemed that time froze; an eerie silence taking over. Then, there was a horrified shriek, echoing in Catherine’s ears. The world started to blur as she crumpled, her legs giving way beneath her. All she could now hear was the distant crying of her name. 

Then, she realised. 

He had won. 

He wanted to take her with him. 

And now, it was over.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for taking the time to read!  
> I was really unsure whether to publish this work or not, so any feedback/comments would be appreciated!  
> Kudos also makes me smile. :3


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